


Ultraviolet Cadmium Blues

by waywardscenarios



Series: The Readerverse [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Artist Reader, Betaed, F/M, Gen, Kuroo Tetsurou is an Inconvenience, Minor Romantic Subplots, Minor Swearing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Rom-com, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 00:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardscenarios/pseuds/waywardscenarios
Summary: 'Indulge Yourself' has never been in Kuroo Tetsurou's vocabulary, nor in the mantra he tells himself in daily intervals. There's a time and place for everything - and that includes his own worldly needs.'Share the Pain' is a foreign concept to (Surname) (Name), one that does not grant her the solace it does for most people. Life is up to her actions, not those from people who do not know enough.But there's an art to discovery, and a science behind creation. It's just up to a pair of idiots to figure that out.ORIs there a true divison between selflessness and reckless abandon?





	1. #4b86b4

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arichuloco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arichuloco/gifts).



> This story takes place in the same AU as my Oikawa fic _A Thousand and One Nights_ called The Readerverse, making it the 2nd instalment in the series-not-a-series. There are some consistent canon elements that connect each story's universe together, and some that are unique to each individual one. In this case there are pretty loose ties to the original story, meaning that **you do not need prior knowledge of the events in ATAON to understand the plot**. I will do my best to explain everything to new readers.
> 
> Feel free to read ATAON if you want to, though, cause I think it's pretty decent.
> 
>  
> 
> A gift for my soulmate Arichuloco, who inspired a few scenes within UCB and restores my will to live like 99% of the time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep could wait. Most things in life could.
> 
> //
> 
> Shit needed to happen, and most of the time _he_ was the catalyst for the change he wanted to see.

_October, 2018_

Autumn was a strange season in Tokyo.

A season of transition, and nothing much else.

Japan itself was known for the Spring – where the country’s major cities were flooded with bodies that congressed to watch waves of pink petals bloom and fill every spare square of space. Next, depending on the person, it was either Summer or Winter; where the former wrapped itself around you and let you laze in an invisible yellow glow, and the latter forced you to wait with baited breath for the snow to fall, to let the nights creep along faster than one could have ever predicted.

Autumn was the outlier. Nothing much happened in Autumn. It existed between changes, where leaves slowly died and brought way for the yuletide, and the heat pattered out into faint memories. Autumn was the only time the world seemed to slow down, preparing for the moment time would propel itself forward – the way most other tangible things in life do.

That was the most charming part of the season – at least that’s what (Name) had always thought. The in-between gave her pause, gave her enough time to catch up with the world and make up for the missteps she made in the months prior. It paved a path forward and set up the mistakes she would inevitably make in the future.

The woman sighed, tapping the end of her pencil on the bench she sat on, casting a curious glance across her surroundings. Yoyogi Park had its fair share of activity all year around, from the tourists who stopped for a day to take in the sights, to the native residents of the district who were desensitised to the sights and sounds that enamoured everyone else.  

A few metres off, a cluster of children played with a ball while their parents looked on at them from where they sat on a mix-matched set of picnic blankets. Their laughter fluttered around them and echoed across the park, mingling with the giggles and cheers from the toddlers they were watching. (Name) couldn’t help but smile – bringing the pencil up to the page to start sketching the rough outlines of the group.

When she was younger she didn’t understand the appeal for ‘people watching’, and to a certain extent she still didn’t. But after years of exposure and rubbing shoulders with people far more eccentric than she could ever be considered, she found herself picking up the habits she once found strange. ‘It helps with realism,’ they said, ‘you get a sense of how bodies move, how people differ because of something as simple as physicality.’

Still, it didn’t deny how _creepy_ observing random strangers in broad daylight _actually_ was.

Her train of thought was interrupted by vibration reverberating through the bench. She glanced down, gaze landing on the phone that lay almost forgotten on top of her bag. Taking in the name that flashed on the phone, (Name) frowned, dropped her pencil, and accepted the call as she retrieved the device.

“You’ve reached (Surname), what’d you need?”

“You, if you can get to the office.” The familiar voice chimed, “I know it’s your day off but Sugimoto got back from Okinawa this morning and he’s in the office. We might be able to get start the Imai Project this week instead of next. That is, if you have stuff ready.” The person scoffed, “who am I kidding, it’s (Surname) (Name), of course you have preliminary ideas.”

Wedging the phone between her ear and a hunched shoulder, the designer began to rummage through her bag, pulling out a simple binder filled with stray slips of paper. She thumbed through them quickly, eyes taking in the rough layouts she had hashed out the day the design brief came in.

“Imai-sensei is a pretty specific person; he’s got a vision, I have fast hands and a keen eye,” (Name) retorted with a smirk.

“More like expertise and experience, don’t try and downplay the entire reason you got picked for this.”

She didn’t reply, and instead raised her left hand to check the time on her watch. Quarter past eleven.

“So how much do you love me Fujioka?”

“Is the answer going to get you in any faster?”

“I’m a sucker for bribery, flattery – it gets you everywhere with me.”

“Then so much,” they indulged, “I’ll have coffee waiting for you in the meeting room; an extra shot of espresso, just the way you like it. I’ll even throw in a sandwich from the diner down the street – on me.”

She let out a low whistle. “You drive a hard bargain, Fujioka. You make sure that you keep the side of the deal and I’ll be there within the hour.”

Her co-worker let out a cheer into the receiver, making her laugh in response. “Sounds good to me, Team Leader.”

And then the line went dead, with nothing but the dial tone to fill in the silence. (Name) locked the phone once again and slipped it back out of sight. Tucking her binder under her thigh, she retrieved her planner and opened it to the daily spread. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, (Name) grabbed the pencil and quickly scribbled out the list of things she needed to do. Laundry could wait for the evening, as could getting groceries if the meeting ran as long as she knew it would.

The Imai Project was her current major design project, having been selected by the client, Imai Eikichi himself. In the initial meeting they had, Imai-sensei had raved on about how impressed he was with one of the campaigns she worked on for a colleague in literature. It stroked her ego a little more than she would admitted, and it was definitely a step in the right direction to branching out on her own.

But had she known how lengthy the project was, and how much everyone was expecting from her – (Name) couldn’t deny the reality that if given the option again, she would have  _declined_ the offer.

 _But work is experience, and experience is better than nothing_.

Flicking through the next couple of weeks, (Name) proceeded to scribble out different chores and notes she had written in on her days off. Now that Sugimoto was back from his business trip, the workload was _definitely_ going to double – and that meant she was going to _lose_ whatever time she had originally had for herself.

Which was, unfortunately, already slim to none.

She scratched the nape of her neck in something akin to frustration while her other hand remained on her drafts, flicking through the corners of different pages as she eyed each individual design.

_Shit. Alright. Shit. Shit. Decent. Maybe. Never. No way in hell._

“Who would’ve thought adverts for a rom-com would be so difficult…” (Name) complained to herself, clicking her tongue in distaste. Lifting her arm again, she checked the time. Twenty-past. The metro loop trains ran in five minute intervals, and that meant she could be at the office in less than twenty.

The artist let her head loll backwards, resting on the back of the bench while she shut her eyes. The fall wind picked up around her, just beginning to kiss her skin through the fabric of her clothes.

And then the thought crossed her mind; that maybe she could just, _not_ go in. Say, an emergency with her baby brother came up. It’d happened before; freak injuries or commitments that she needed to attend to as his guardian. But in the same regard, she blew off just as many of her promises to him in order to finish off a job, or to work overtime on a commission in the studio. It was a coin-toss. Life was always a coin toss.

Minutes passed, and it wasn’t until (Name) finally rediscovered her resolve that she reopened her eyes. Resting be damned, she had shit to do and a career to forge. Sleep could wait, most things in life could.

 _Stupid determination_.

With something close to a yawn she stretched, raising her arms over her head and sprawling her tensed legs out in front of her. A knot in her neck strained a little from the movement, and in her brief moment of relaxation the wind picked up around her, whipping some of the loose-leaf pages away from the open binder. (Name)’s eyes shot open at the sound of the rustling sheets, and sucked a deep breath through an almost tensed jaw. Three pieces, three shitty ones.

“Son of a bitch…” She grumbled, scrambling with her hands in an attempt to catch the fluttering slips. The wind continued to blow, slowly elevating them higher and higher into the air, and further and further away from her. Haphazardly, (Name) took to jamming her belongings back into her messenger bag before she shot up. She slung the strap over her shoulder in tandem with the strides she took to try and retrieve her sketches.

Another two wide arcs of her arms only acted as a means of keeping them further out of her reach.

Before she could let out another annoyed growl, a large hand plucked them out of the air, the mystery arm stretched out from the left of her peripheral.

“Careful, you don’t want hurt yourself over a piece of paper.”

The voice was deep, oddly melodic, and laced with humour at the position she had been caught in. (Name) turned her head, following the hand’s forearm and bicep before her gaze met the stranger’s.

Taller than the average Japanese man, with a head of hair that seemingly defied all laws of gravity, the lithe stranger stood nearby, leaning down ever so slightly to hand the items back to her. As if his height, build, and hair weren’t intimidating enough, the dark tones of his attire did little to help his case. Paired with an analytical gaze and the cattish smile – (Name) was so very certain he was _not_ real.

“Huh… ‘Wanted: People’, sounds familiar.” He mused, gaze lingering on the sketch in his hand. Biting the inside of her cheek, (Name) reached out and wrapped her fingers around the top of the page and tugged lightly, watching as his fingers unfurled their grip. “A work in progress of yours?”

“In the loosest of terms, maybe.” She answered, quickly slipping the papers alongside the others in her bag and buckling it closed once more. As she looked back at him, she just barely caught on to the look of amusement that flashed across his features. “Uh, thanks, for grabbing these. I’d be pretty pissed if I lost them.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s the least I can do being as tall as I am.” The grin that stretched across his face was half genuine, half sarcastic, and (Name) had to refrain from rolling her eyes at him. That was reserved for friends, not random people she was obligated to be nice to.

“Great, well. Thanks again. See you around.” With a nod of her head, she watched as he took a step back and turned on his heel, walking in the opposite direction of where they met. She kept staring at his retreating body before she took to turning around.

‘Strange guy,’ she considered, ‘but most people who look like that are strange. Unreal. Stupid attractive people.’

Her phone vibrated again, shaking against the plastic coverings of her binder, and (Name) felt her body slump ever so slightly from it’s upright position. Hands fumbled through the newly formed mess before she got to reading the messages.

**Fujioka Minori**

_You are coming in right?   (11:23am)_

_Cause I mean it when I said I’ll shout lunch   (11:23am)_

_And because I told Sugimoto that he needed to come in because you wanted him in the office   (11:24am)_

With puffed cheeks and narrowed eyes, (Name) typed out a confirmation before locking the phone and clutching it in a tightened fist. Hurrying her steps, she turned the corner around the boundaries of the park grounds before speed-walking towards the staircase located just above the nearby station terminal.

As she tackled the steps two at a time, (Name) reluctantly unlocked her phone and formed another text; this time to her brother.

**Idiot Boy**

_Got called into work, I might be running late tonight so I’ll grab dinner on my way home. Lemme know what you’re craving   (11:27am)_

_Anything. N Hiro’s gonna stay over tonight. We’ve got a project, is that cool? (11:27am)_

_All g. Now pay attention in class, loser.  (11:28am)_

_U texted me first dickhead  (11:28am)_

 

* * *

 

Artists were strange people.

Most liberal arts people were.

Kuroo glanced back over his shoulder in the direction he left, no longer seeing the woman with the sketches. The look on her face when he had stared at the images was another checkbox ticked in the list of stereotypical artist reactions.

‘At least I helped,’ he thought to himself, all before shrugging his shoulders and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. His boots crunched against the loose gravel of the path, punctuating each purposeful stride and every breath of the frigid air he inhaled.

As he trailed further into the park, the looming gates of the Meiji Shrine appeared before him. And there, tucked under the boughs of the trees on a small wooden bench was a familiar blond-haired man. His head was tilted downwards, fingers moving across a small screen was only visible from the blue-white light that blossomed from beneath his fingertips.

“Oi, Kenma!”

The shorter man looked up from his phone, stray strands of blond hair framing the sides of his face as he watched the middle blocker approach. They fluttered in the passing wind, and his eyes squinted behind the lenses of thin wire framed glasses. The lower half of his face was covered by a maroon scarf, the ends tucked into the sweater that seemed to engulf his entire upper body.

“Kuro. You’re late,” He mumbled as he neared, making his best friend click his tongue.

“But you weren’t waiting too long, were you? I bet you just got here, right Kenma?” He jested, laying a hand on the mop of hair. It was longer when compared to the last time they had seen each other; of that Kuroo was certain.

He shrugged. “Lost track of time, I think I was only waiting for ten minutes.”

“You still have time for lunch, right?”

Kenma nodded, slipping his phone out of sight as he stood up. “I don’t have to meet up with Shouyou until this afternoon.”

“Well I’m glad you could _somehow_ make time for your poor, unfortunate childhood best friend,” Kuroo chimed, leaning down so their heads were level. Kenma began to walk forward, prompting the former to begin trailing alongside him, straightening his back out ever so slightly.

“You should. I could be sleeping right now.”

“And has your sleep schedule improved?”

“My iron levels are at a regular level now. But a new Monster Hunter just came out-”

“That sounds about right, yeah.”

“You can’t judge me for not sleeping when I don’t think _you’re_ resting all that well either, Kuro.” Kenma quipped. The pudding-head rarely ever glared at him these days, but despite their lack of frequency he was still able to discern when the younger male was – at the very least  _slightly_ – visibly annoyed with him.

This was one of those moments.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, are you sure you not losing too much sleep?”

Kenma kept his gaze forward, hands tucked away from sight as every three of his steps matched Kuroo’s two. “Shouyou mentioned you got inducted as Captain at Chuo now that you’re back doing your Masters… And then there’s the fact that you got made a starting player for both the Panthers _and_ Ryuujin Nippon…”

The air the raven-haired man held in his chest whistled through the slight gaps of his teeth as he exhaled. He knew where this was going, and if he were being perfectly honest then he was genuinely surprised that it had taken almost half a year for Kenma to come out and express his concern.

The next few words echoed in his skull, washing over him with a sense of déjà vu Kuroo knew he _should have_ been perturbed by.

“Aren’t you worried about stretching yourself too thin?”

He stayed silent for a moment, trying to formulate a reasonable, appropriate response.

There was a small part of him that, admittedly, was terrified of burning out, of no longer having any type of motivation or drive to continue with all the promises and responsibilities he had made himself uphold. But that was just a small part – one small, almost insignificant aspect of his subconscious that really didn’t mean much in the day to day.

(Not unless Kenma was involved – damn him being 75% of his impulse control.)

The rest of his subconscious had already rationalised his choices long ago, had already ingrained in him the reasoning behind the choices he made. They made sense, regardless of how utopian and idealistic it seemed.

Shit needed to happen, and most of the time _he_ was the catalyst for the change he wanted to see. And most people weren’t necessarily _capable_ of making the changes and decisions that would benefit the majority of society. He knew he was decent enough, so why not take charge?

“People need me,” he supplied, “and who am I to say no to people in need?” He spun on his heel and kept walking backwards, letting his right hand lay across his rest above his heart. “I’ve _always_ been a kind person.”

Kenma stopped in his tracks and let his head tilt to the side. He blinked once – slow and drawn out – before letting the concoction of disbelief and frustration appear on his normally stoic face.

“You’re dumb.” He deadpanned before beginning to walk forwards once more, taking much larger strides in order to pass his friend. Kuroo let his head turn and trail after him before jogging to catch up to him.

“I mean, from the state of my Master’s research, that’s becoming more and more of a fact each day.” He snorted carelessly, threading a hand through the roots of his hair and letting his fringe dance off of his forehead for a moment.

He didn’t notice how the look of annoyance that lingered on the short male’s face, but instead misread the returning blank stare as an admission of defeat and an invitation to continue.

“I’ve actually got a lab to do tomorrow morning to help with research, and then I’ve gotta get another draft in of one of the sections done before next week’s review.”

“And you have to do a couple of courses alongside the original thesis, right?” Kuroo hummed in confirmation, making Kenma’s brows furrow together. “Why do you do this to yourself, Kuro? That’s so much effort.”

“Be glad you’ve graduated already, then. And that you’re set up with a pretty sweet gig. Hey, you think your dad can set me up as well? Just in case this whole volleyball thing goes belly up. Bet you guys need a researcher or something.”

“I doubt you’d let yourself fall on to Plan E.”

“What’re Plans B through D?”

“Probably some stupid scheme with Bokuto.”

“You know me too well, I swear~”

Kuroo draped his arm across Kenma’s shoulders, tucking him into his side while donning his usual teasing grin. Kenma frowned but accepted, steadily slowing his tempo in order to match the former’s strides.

“So how’s working going for you? Anyone I need to beat up yet? Or intimidate with my handsome good looks and hair tall enough to impale someone?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, I tend to keep myself out of trouble at work. They tried to invite me to a goukon last week.”

“And you decide to stay in and game, didn’t you?”

“I’m not really into relationships, you know this.”

“Yeah, I know, just making sure you’re fine. And you’d let me know if you needed anything, right?”

Kenma hesitated for second before nodding in confirmation. If Kuroo noticed, he didn’t call him out on it.

The pair had successfully made their way out of the park boundaries and into the main street that connected the districts together, lazily walking around as they continued to bounce back and forth the details of life. It had been a while since they had caught up, a mix of Kenma’s lazy indifference and Kuroo’s impossible, hard-to-navigate life schedule.

But these moments, where they relived the days closer to the ease of high school, were much nicer than the could have ever anticipated – a nice reminder of all the good things life could offer them. And though the world continued to propel the two of them into much different directions, they still found themselves grounded in a reality they could both share; one with decent food and banter that could only be had when you knew someone for more than half of your life.

It was mid-way through lunch when the intrusive thoughts Kuroo had pushed from his mind re-emerged. Kenma, unsurprisingly, was a fountain of knowledge and references – more than Kuroo could have ever hoped to be.

“Hey, does the name ‘Wanted: People’ ring any bells for you?”

Kenma paused with his lips around a slice katsu, nodding once before he resumed chewing.

“It’s this webcomic that’s gotten pretty popular. Imai Eikichi. He wrote that Shounen manga running on TV Tokyo right now... I think it's about basketball? The webcomic isn't about that though... It's, I don't know, romance or something”

Kuroo nodded, mouth forming a thoughtful pout. _Eikichi_ ; not a feminine name, so it definitely wasn’t the woman he bumped into earlier.

The explanation for his query died in his throat as his phone chimed with a notification. An email from the Chuo Manager with a subject line detailing a schedule confirmation for training, and a request he come to campus ASAP. Kuroo groaned, letting his head drop onto the table with a soft thud.

“Kuro, don’t shake the table over a message.”

“But I have things to _do_ now… M’not even meant to go on to campus today.” He furrowed his brow, letting his right hand clench around the cold, metal chopsticks in his grasp. “Can’t a guy catch a break?”

A reply burbled in the back of Kenma’s throat before he swallowed it down, feeling the bitter aftertaste burn his vocal chords. A cynical thought, a snide one that he could only make around Kuroo. He swore his eye twitched.

_If you’re so exhausted, why did you do this to yourself?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, what do we have here? The Kuroo story I promised back four(?) months ago? How fortuitous~~  
> But better late than never am I right? Good things take time - and I had a busy semester so forgive me for the lateness. Like ATAON, there's a set backstory and personality for the Reader-insert character, so be warned! This is not your standard ambiguous blank slate. Also; I'm not spelling Kuroo's name wrong at the end of the chapter. Kenma canonically calls Kuroo 'Kuro', so I'm sticking with Furudate's characterisation for that sweet, sweet consistency. The chapters will get longer, don't worry, we're just easing back into the swing of things.
> 
> Another thing to note! UCB will also be sharing an upload schedule with _another_ work I advertised at the end of ATAON, so my attention will unfortunately be divided between the two. This is just a test to see if I can handle the workload... Mainly because I have so many stories set in this AU that I want to write and I'm never going to get to them if I only write one fic at a time.
> 
> I also just made a twitter ~~since i barely use my tumblr anymore lmao~~ so I can talk to y'all outside of the comments - because let's be real, it's kinda shitty that you can only yell at me through the comments and not any other social media platform. It'll also be the place where I'll update you for when certain chapters go live, tell you about any changes in scheduling, random stuff in my day, and maybe _just maybe_ you'll get previews of chapters or other WIPS outside of The Readerverse series. Not really sure yet, you'll have to drop by and see for yourself. Follow me [here](https://twitter.com/waywards_) if you have twitter and let me know what you think of UCB so far, or just say hi. I'll follow you back, it'll be a good time.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~until i forget to use it... hopefully not~~


	2. #5d92bb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We meet again. How fortuitous.”

_ October, 2018 _

Though the weather began to cool and make way for the upcoming winter, it did not slow down the afternoon crowds who took to flooding the streets of Shibuya as a means of relaxing before the work week started again. If anything it spurred them on, urging them to make the most of the longer days while they had the chance.

Amidst them stood (Name), head directed down towards the screen of her phone while her thumb scrolled through the notes from her company’s last meeting. The list detailed the entire timeline for the Imai Project, all the rejections and reworks she personally had to do, and the tasks she had divided between her small team of four.

Imai sensei, though very kind and understanding, had particular tastes concerning his work, and a certain style that he wanted to be reflected in the final graphics for the PR campaign. Though the bullet points were short and snappy, the work they abbreviated was enough to hold all of them over for at least another three weeks at most, lining up well with another set of meetings, both internally at the firm and at Kodansha with Imai and his team. They had, thankfully, already settled on a main graphic for the ‘Wanted: People’ brand and series in their last consultation – if they hadn’t, (Name) would not have hesitated to rip her own hair out. The next few weeks would consist of PR variations – decals on public transport and billboards, maybe even a commercial or two – and finalising different graphics and effects that would be applied for the opening and closing credits.

_ God _ , they should have formed a team of six.

As she started to mentally plot out her upcoming work week, a white banner appeared at the top of the screen, followed by the small chime of a pre-set alarm. The words were bold and black against the background, and the frown she adorned on her face deepened almost comically.

**‘Nomura Commission: One Week till Deadline.’**

(Name) stopped herself from groaning and pulled her gaze away from the screen, glancing around to get her bearings. She had just stopped in for lunch with Fujioka a few blocks away from their office where her colleague had convinced her to help provide more direction for their quarter of the workload.

(“I’ve already had to change my days off for this project and now you want me to meet you on my new weekend? You’re killing me Fujioka.”

“But I need help! You gotta do me a solid again!”)

Now, after the headache that was brainstorming in a crowded diner, she was a stone’s throw away from the infamous Shibuya Crossing, meaning that she could stop in by Uematsu for more oil paint and then head to her studio.

Slipping her phone away once more, (Name) walked with long, purposeful strides towards the three-storey white building opposite the entrance to Shibuya station, hanging left in order to duck into the glass automatic doors. They slid open just as quickly as she arrived, and as she stepped into the heated interior the designer reached down for one of the black plastic shopping baskets that were piled up near the store’s entrance.

Uematsu was one of her main sources of art supplies in the metropolitan area, the other being the flagship store for the Sekaido chain in Shinjuku, which was a little closer to her studio in the nearby district of Shimokitazawa. A one stop shop of sorts, Uematsu’s range focused more on traditional Japanese artforms with a secondary care to the more well-known western styles. The store was empty, leaving (Name) to roam through the aisles in order to stock up: Prussian Blue and Vandyke Brown, another Cadmium Yellow, and two bottles of Titanium White (how she went through so much of the latter was both impressive and concerning).

She paused, took one step forward on her right foot before pushing back and reaching for a third bottle of Titanium White.

Just in case.

Her eyes zeroed on the small paper tab slipped into the plastic runner around the bottom of the shelf and pulled her lips into a frown.

She  _ really _ needed to work on the whole ‘paint conservation’ thing. Or settle for cheaper brands. Or change mediums. Or consider  _ never _ taking on an oil paint commission for as long as she lived.

So many options, and barely enough motivation to really consider them.

The clerk behind the counter smiled politely as she approached, taking the basket out of her grasp as he began to scan and bag her supplies. He didn’t say much, nor did she. He was a new face in the line-up of retail assistants in Uematsu. Either that or they met before and the encounter wasn’t substantial enough for (Name) to have remembered. The numbers displayed on the small screen of the register made her frown.

She should have held out for Sekaido. At least they had discounts for people with a membership.

After paying and shoving the packed goods into her bag, she nodded her head in thanks before stalking out of the shop and back out into the open streets. The lunch hour rush finally showed signs of slowing down as she crossed the street and entered Shibuya terminal, following the decreasing flow of traffic towards the Odakyu Odawara line platform. Her phone buzzed again, the noise barely audible over the surrounding cacophony that echoed through the large building. She fished around and angled the screen, reluctant to pull her phone out again for the umpteenth time that day. Another white banner plastered itself onto the small screen, donning a more aggressive remind of the encroaching Nomura deadline she left herself back upon the initially acceptance of the commission.

With her hands still in the main compartment, she whipped out her planner and flicked open to the weekly spread, lips pulled into a disgruntled line as she scanned her upcoming work week. The Imai Project had completely thrown her personal schedule out of whack, leaving her with absolutely no time to duck into her studio to finish the job.

Unless…

The designer groaned in frustration, left hand unlocking and retrieving her phone while her right fumbled with planner. Her thumb moved on instinct, swiping through apps towards her call history. Phone tucked between her cheek, ear and shoulder, she tapped her foot impatiently as she listened to the ringer.

“Don’t tell me, you’re not gonna be at home tonight?”

(Name) refrained from sighing in exasperation at how disappointed her brother sounded from the get-go. “I have a personal commission due in a week and with all the bullshit at work, I’ve had to shuffle my schedule around entirely.”

The teen hummed at the answer. “Does that mean you’ll  _ actually _ be at home at Normal People Hours?”

“Probably, but it might still be really late-”

“But we can have take out instead of whatever you decide to cook?”

“What’s wrong with what I cook?”

“Nothing, but I’d appreciate something called  _ variety _ .”

“Then yeah, sure, take out it is.” She shrugged to herself. “S’not why I called Ryo. I’m gonna be staying at the studio tonight so I won’t be home until tomorrow evening. There’s leftovers in the fridge, but if you wanna eat then meet me at Shimoki and we can crash there. It’ll be closer to school for you.”

(Name) could hear him visibly shudder at the offer, and it almost cracked a smile on to her face. “I would, but I had the bathroom at your studio. No take out in the world could convince me to use that nasty shower.”

“You find  _ one _ spider and suddenly it’s ‘nasty’. Do you know how many spiders I’ve had to kill in your bathroom at home when you go on training camps-”

Ryo gagged.

“ _ Please _ don’t tell me that right now, not tonight. For real, I have to be  _ alone _ with these hypothetical spiders-”

“They’re very much real, Ryo, trust your dear older sis-”

“Nope, nope, nope, nope, enjoy your night – I have to exorcise the entire house now.”

“That’s not how you-”

Her response fell into nothing as the dial-tone filled the space her brother had left. She shook her head and slipped her phone into her pants pocket, letting her attention fall back on to the rest of her week laid out in the planner.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

(Name)’s head snapped immediately to the left, being met with a pair of hazel eyes starring mischievously back at her. A familiar head of black hair, still spiked in every which way, was level with her own, leaning over her shoulder. She closed the planner slowly, challenging, and she noticed his eyes flicker down to get one final look at whatever she scribbled down.

“Tall Stranger.” She hummed back, tucking the planner under her arm as he returned his full attention to her. “We meet again. How fortuitous.”

“One week apart and all you’ve come up with is ‘Tall Stranger’?” He quipped, eyebrow cocked in a manner that matched his prodding tone. “I’m a little disappointed at the banality.”

“My apologies. How does ‘Mister Reachy’ sound?”

“6 out of 10, needs work.”

“And what, pray tell, is your nickname for me?”

“I don’t think you deserve to hear it after all I got was ‘Tall Stranger’.”

(Name) scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and pressing the book in between her limbs. “You should be thankful I actually remembered you, let alone gave you such a succinct, easy-to-remember nickname.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, watching as the stranger straightened out his back and stood at his full height next to her.

Slung over his right shoulder was a large sports bag, emblazoned with a symbol she didn’t recognise, with colours that matched the tracksuit he was wearing.

“I assure you, I’m completely honoured that you took the time to remember someone like me, but that really doesn’t entitle you to know the  _ amazing _ nickname I gave-”

“Is it ‘Artist-chan’?”

He paused, mouth open before he shook his head. “I’m not that simple-minded.”

“It totally is ‘Artist-chan’.”

“It was a lucky guess-”

“You said my one was  _ banal _ !” She snorted, shaking her head at the embarrassment that steadily blossomed on his face. “At least I had a backup with an  _ actual adjective _ for you.”

“And I appreciate it greatly, but I argue that  _ my  _ nickname is much easier to remember than ‘Tall Stranger’ or ‘Mister Reachy’.” The stranger countered, tilting his chin upwards ever so slightly. “How often do you meet a tall stranger who willingly reaches up and grabs things for you?”

“Not a-”

“All the time. How many artists do you meet on the daily?”

“In my industry? Quite a few-”

“Wrong answer, c’mon Artist-chan, work with me here.”

He clapped his hands to punctuate the sentences laced with his faux exasperation, and paired with the exaggerated look of disbelief that grace his features (Name) could not control the smile from appearing on her face. The stranger’s lip twitched.

“You smiled. I win.”

“How was this a competition?” She asked through low chuckles.

“From the moment we met, it was written in the stars-”

“It was midday-”

“Written in the leaves that this was our destiny.” His grin widened almost impishly. “Quips, smile competitions and terrible codenames on your end-”

“ _ Your _ end, you mean.”

“Okay so then we’re tied for the victory.” He determined, clenching one fist and hitting it against his other flattened palm. “We need a tie breaker.”

She brought her hand up to her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, the other arm still cradling the planner into her torso. It was a strange feeling that burbled inside her, one that was equal parts confused, amused, and irked at the entire direction of the encounter. When she moved her hand away, she caught sight of the Odakyu train approaching, the sound of the brakes engaging as it slowed to a crawl in its arrival.

“I have no idea what the tie breaker would be, but we’re running out time.”

“What makes you say that? We’re just two grown adults, waiting for our respective trains. It’s not like they run on a consistent, reliable, and efficient schedule.”

“Definitely not, and it’s not like my train is pulling in right about now.” The man turned his head in time with the train slowly pulling in to the crawl. The announcement sounded over the speakers throughout the platform, reminding passengers of the standard safety reminders around the train. “But it is, so this is where it has to end unfortunately.”

“The Odakyu Odawara line? So you’re an outer metro kid?” He hummed, watching as the woman began to walk towards one of the still slowing carriages. He followed her course, staying one step behind her. “Outskirts of a business district? Bed-town district? Office woman central?”

“Outskirts of the whole prefecture, more like.” She retorted. “But my studio is in Shimoki so yeah, I guess I’m an outer metro kid.”

The man snorted. “Shimoki? Like  _ Shimokitazawa _ , the hipster district?”

“What can I say,” (Name) shrugged, “it’s the  _ perfect _ place for an artist.”

The train stilled to a halt, and the pneumatic tubes began to open the carriage doors, unleashing with it a steady stream of commuters. After the first few individuals exited, (Name) stepped on, pressing herself up just inside of the doorway to keep talking to the stranger. There was a second of hesitation in his face, in his steps – and his eyes flickered to the right before he took to resting his forearms on the metal barrier that blocked of the platform from the doorway.

“Not gonna follow me up for the tie breaker?”

His shoulders visibly shuddered as he tried to reply.

“I’ll concede if it means I can get your name.”

The doors started beeping, and slowly they began sliding shut. She moved to follow the narrowing opening. He mirrored her movements.

“(Surname).”

The man mouthed the name to himself, the corner of his lip twitching. He snapped out of his revere, just in time to announce the first part of his own surname before the doors slid shut and locked back into place, blocking out the rest of the name.

In the brief seconds before the train pulled away, she caught him mouthing his name at her through the windows in the door. She shrugged, tapping her ear and squinting her eyes at him. His shoulders deflated as his mouth relaxed into something akin to being slack-jawed, and the train lurched her body forward for a second before the train began to pick up speed.

(Name) kept her gaze on the figure shrinking as she got further and further away, watching as he lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave, traces of defeat gracing his angular features.

And then he was gone, the train following the line’s curve as it fully pulled out from the terminal’s boundaries.

She kept her shoulder pressed into the curve where the carriage met the exit, still staring at where she last saw the stranger. The first part of the name he had sputtered out rolled around in her mind, mingling with the shape of his mouth from the silenced second syllable.

She clicked her tongue.

There was no way that guy was named after a colour.

 

* * *

 

Her confusion surrounding Mister Reachy’s surname wasn’t cleared until late into the night.

She found herself sprawled on the floor of her studio, different shades of paint peppering the bare parts of her skin. Her phone was propped up against a roll of paper towels while next to that a store-bought bento picked of everything but the garnishes lay untouched for the past half an hour.

Above her was the Nomura piece; an landscape oil painting of a small, secluded part of the Miyajima Park. There were still areas she could refine, but her eyes were starting to close and her fingers began to cramp not long after she started to clean up some of the background foliage.

Muffling a yawn with one hand, (Name) used the pinkie on her other to scroll through her Facebook feed absentmindedly. The digits at the top of the screen told her it was one in the morning, and the way her eyelids dropped into her vision demanded she call it a night and take to sleeping on the floor.

And she almost gave in.

If it weren’t for the fact she was startled into consciousness when a video auto-played and blared the screams of a crowd into the air around her.

(Name) tensed from where she laid, joints locking from the sudden noises around her and her eyes focusing in on the once blurry silhouettes.

The post was shared by one of her old classmates from high school – someone she pity added when word got out she finally made a profile. Though he supplied no status in his repost, the one attached to the original video was enough to send a shot of adrenaline into her system.

**_Japan’s Strongest._ **

She recognised the court, the colours, and the formations. After years of watching Ryouta in place of their parents, she had become far too familiar with volleyball and its intricacies.

These days, in between work and bare minimum pleasure, her knowledge had fallen short of what it once was.

The video itself seemed to be a little over two months old from what the original post presented, but that didn’t matter to her. The commentary that played over the top of the cheering and the rallies took its time to focus on each member of the starting line-up. Most of the names were meaningless – or unfamiliar to her at the very least.

But that didn’t matter, not when she could affirm a name to the fact of Mister Reachy himself.

It was two thirds into the video by the time his face appeared, and (Name) couldn’t help but furrow her brows together when Mister Reachy was shown in not two, but three different volleyball uniforms as opposed to the rest of his teammates.

She only recognised one of the styles – the infamous red and black of Ryuujin Nippon’s Home colours – while the other two were supplied with the narration.

Current starting middle blocker for the Panasonic Panthers to go with the blue and black number, and the captain of the Chuo University Men’s Team donning blue and white. His name was Kuroo Tetsurou; alumni of a local Tokyo high school who brought his team to the national stage in his final year. An illustrious personality within the league, balancing the workload of three official team positions at three different levels of skill, in addition a Master’s degree.

“Colour me impressed…” She murmured, adjusting her body so she leant more on her right side. The pieces fell into place; the height, the gear, the confidence, the  _ name _ .

(Name) narrowed her eyes and clicked her tongue.

A fortuitous meeting indeed.

 

* * *

 

“I leave you alone for five minutes and I come back to you looking heartbroken. Who ate your mackerel, Tetsu-chan?”

Kuroo whipped his head around, meeting the dark brown eyes of the coiffed haired setter. Oikawa stood there, training bag strap slung across his torso diagonally while his right hand cradled a small can of black coffee from one of the vending machines further down the platform.

His frown deepened before he turned back to the direction of the train – or at least to where it once had been. The last carriage finally made its way around the bend – out of sight, but barely out of his mind.

“Remember how I was telling you about that weird artist chick I met last week?”

Oikawa nodded, left hand pulling the tab of the can open. The hiss filled the air before his confirmation of, “Yes, you just told me about her during practice” did.

“I just ran into her again.” The blocker continued, not bothering to turn around to fully address him. Because maybe, just maybe, that train would somehow circle around in the next two minutes and they could run into each other again.

“And?”

“And that was honestly one of the most amusing things to happen to me in a while.”

The setter scoffed, a sound that forced the blocker to whip around. It was condescending, in its own unique Shittykawa way, and that tone was  _ never _ good.

“You say that about every meeting you have with someone new.” Oikawa jeered, taking a slow sip of the coffee while maintaining eye contact with his friend. “And besides,” he continued after a short while, “whenever you do genuinely mean that, the person always ends up really boring outside of their reactions to your bullshit and you drop them just as quickly as you pick them up.”

“Not true.” Kuroo argued, tilting his head at the sound of the approaching train on the opposite platform.

The pair began to walk in the other direction, pausing at the barricade in order to board. The train wasn’t as packed as anticipated, giving them prime opportunity to sit down and relax after a ridiculously long practice.

“I mean, s’kind of true.” Oikawa retorted. “You’re really into that whole ‘Provocation Master’ schtick Sawamura-san think’s you’ve got going on. Are you sure it’s not a kink? ‘Cause I would only judge you a little bit if it  _ was _ a kink.”

“Kind of like how you’re a Shittykawa for shits and giggles?” The taller male challenged, swiping the can from the setter’s hand to swipe his own swig.

“I don’t do that  _ intentionally _ .” He frowned. “Okay maybe I do, but I’m  _ working _ on it and you can’t rush progress.”

“Whatever you say Oiks.”

“Yeah, you’re right.  _ Whatever I say _ . And  _ I _ say,” the pulled the can back into his grasp, “that you do mean what you say, but not in the way you think.”

Kuroo’s head tilted even more to the side, brow slowly rising in amusement. Oikawa wore his usual all-knowing, smug face – the face that was just  _ asking _ to get punched if he couldn’t justify it. The silence prompted the setter to proceed, and instead of looking straight at him he sat face on, staring ahead at the empty row of seats on the opposite side of the carriage.

“Unlike me, you have this amazing habit of trying to help people who really don’t think they need it, and don’t necessarily want it. Non-consensual Good Samaritan.” The brunet stated, voice unwavering in tone and his gaze firm in where it looked. “You and,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “Tarou-chan have the same habit. And that’s fine, but you’re the shitty one when it comes to hiding that intention.”

The middle blocker blinked a few times in silence before scoffing. “I  _ do not _ – and even if I did I am not as obvious as Bokuto.”

“You get this wide eye grin that just says ‘Oh man, guess who I am going to guide onto the One True Path this month’.” The shorter man snorted, side eyeing his friend as the whole train jerked. “It’s funny and sad. Fuck, now I wish I was there to watch the conversation happen – bet you looked so stupid.”

“I already default to stupid with hair like this.” He sighed sarcastically.

“I mean, you said it, not me.” 

Kuroo jammed his elbow into Oikawa’s side, making the latter almost spill some of the coffee onto his black tracksuit pants.

“Hey! Don’t hate the player, hate the fact you are really have no finesse when talking to girls.” He growled, nudging the blocker back in a haphazard manner. “Try not to prove my point; did you get her number?”

There was a second of silence.

“Does her last name count?”

“Oh my God, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“It was bad timing! How I was I meant to know her train was going to be there so quickly? A million trains leave this terminal every day, and I’m meant to know what one this stranger I met one time catches?”

“You open the conversation with ‘What way are you headed, Weird-Artist-I-Met-Last-Week?’ or whatever variation your dumb Rooster Head comes up with!” Oikawa slumped against the backrest, letting his head loll back to look parallel at the roof while both hands cradled the now warming can in his lap. “You are actually hopeless, are you sure that girlfriend you had in second year wasn’t made up?”

“Like your last encounter with a girl went any better.”

The setter’s head snapped to the right, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed aggressively. He hit a nerve – not uncommon for his current track record with the former – but in the tense atmosphere he deflated. There was a comeback that died on Oikawa’s lips – or an excuse at the very least if it wasn’t some snarky comeback. He’d never hear it though, not when they were both trying to get back on to vaguely decent terms with each other.

“Agree to disagree.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

They held each other’s gazes a little longer before the air became a little easier to breath. Oikawa’s annoyance receded only slightly, faint creases between his brows and at the sides of his mouth the only hint that he had even been irked in the last few minutes.

“But seriously Tetsu… It’s a small world, m’not surprised you saw her again.”

Kuroo’s shoulders relaxed, taken aback at how soft Oikawa’s voice was not long after he had been on the attack. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm…” He brought his free arm over his chest, letting his head loll back to face the ceiling. “Life is stupid like that; making you meet people over and over again with no rhyme or reason to the encounters. So if you actually like this one, then just reconsider.” A short puff of air escaped Oikawa’s lips. “You’ve got yourself wound real tight, and spread nine ways from Sunday these days… And if I’m honest I don’t know if half of those things are what you  _ really _ want.”

He stared at the unmoving form of his friend, watching as the deep contemplation began to permeate on the surface of his skin and evaporate into the air, as if trying to visually convey his thought process to the other man. It was strange to watch Oikawa be so at peace and so distraught at the same time, to watch him try and make sense of flaws that hurt to admit in order to teach someone else. It wasn’t in his character, and the fact he was willingly doing it – and on a  _ goddamn train _ no less – spoke volumes about how concerned he was for his friend’s encounter.

‘But this is Oiks,’ Kuroo reasoned half-heartedly, ‘he’s just projecting. And when he projects, you just pick and choose what you hear.’

“Thanks for the wisdom, oh Grand King.”

“What would you do without me, you young, precious boy.” Oikawa hummed, eyes shutting in tandem with his right hand holding out the can of coffee. “You can have the rest so long as you promise to wake me up when we get to Bunkyo.”

Kuroo hummed, wordlessly, as his fingers removed the aluminium from the setter’s grasp. As quickly as it happened, he coiled in on himself, feet tucking the duffle bag closer to the seat while his arms wound themselves over his chest. His eyes lingered on a spot on the ceiling for a second before the fluttered shut.

The Oikawa Tooru Life Management Kiosk was closed for the day.

The middle blocker smirked as he began to drink the rest of the canned beverage. His friend’s words swirled around in his head for a few minutes before they were filed into a deep recess that he probably would not remember.

Because, really, given his track record in the past year – what did Oikawa Tooru know about the Eccentric Art Type?

 

* * *

 

Bokuto arrived home closer to dusk, having spent his free day from training and responsibility distracting himself with the presence of Konoha. He entered the lounge with left-overs from whatever restaurant the two ex-Fukurodani players had camped out in and collapsed next to his best friend on their small sofa, sprawling out with his body half on top of the slimmer male.

“How was training?” The tone was clipped, and Kuroo didn’t need to think twice to know the real intention behind Bokuto’s inquiry.

“He didn’t say anything, don’t flip your lid.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“Sure you weren’t bro.”

Bokuto grumbled something under his breath before he continued to shrug of his outer layers of clothing, letting them cascade to the floor so he could clean it up when he turned in for the night.

The drama playing on the TV in front of them filled the void in conversation. It was harder to talk about stuff these days – or at least in the  _ aftermath _ of the difficult days. Bo needed time, Kuroo argued, which meant that he needn’t burden the spiker with his own life and escapades when that ran the risk of making things shitty for all three of them.

Even if he wanted to.

Because who else would understand the intentions and feelings he had without misconstruing them or judging him for what they thought he was thinking and feeling?

(Kenma probably, but he always phrased it in a way that was innately judgemental without even trying. And maybe Akaashi, but that kid had more work to do than  _ he _ did, and he didn’t want another dude’s problems to listen to when they were both dealing with a Great Horned Owl situation.)

And if in the off chance that they both had the same ‘Non-Consensual Good Samaritan’ problem, then Bo would be a better fit to rationalise the choices he made in hypothetically following through with meeting the mysterious Weird-Artist ‘(Surname)’.

The blocker glanced at his roommate from the corner of his eye, taking in the slumped form of the male as it seemingly melted and moulded into the couch’s worn in contours and fraying fabric. The hundred metre stare that he held in his eyes was growing more and more concerning, and despite being a sign that he wasn’t thinking of anything, there was clearly a torrent of  _ something _ behind his eyes.

He bit the inside of his cheek before returning his attention to the screen, just in time to watch the two leads kiss at the climax of the season. Bokuto snorted from next to him.

It took every ounce of self-restraint in Kuroo’s body not to laugh in disbelief at the spiker’s reaction.

Of course, it just had to be Kuroo’s luck that all three of them were complete and utter  _ failures  _ when it came to befriending the Eccentric Art Type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~the summary is actually shit because I didn't want to spoil stuff~~  
>  oh look, an actual meet cute? is this actual proof that i can write cute things without ripping your heart out? 
> 
> will i actually rip your heart out tho?  
> who knows  
> please just appreciate the rom-com i'm trying to write.
> 
> comments and kudos keep me going, and [my twitter](https://twitter.com/waywards_) is officially the best place to ask when the next chapter will be since i don't have a set schedule at all lmao


	3. #4378a2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he did, it could be considered an admission of defeat.
> 
> And Kuroo Tetsurou was far too proud to admit defeat.
> 
> //
> 
> (Name) pushed herself upright, leaning back against the backrest of her chair while her head lolled to look directly at the ceiling. She should be at home right now, or at the studio working on anything. But no, she was at Orion Designs, wasting away behind a desk because of her own dumb pride.

_November, 2018_

“Alright that’s time kiddies – let’s get the court cleaned up so the basketball dorks can practice their inferior jumps or whatever it is they do!”

The ravenet clapped his hands to punctuate the announcement, sweat trailing down the sides of his face and disappearing into the caverns created by his collarbones. The captain of the Chuo Basketball team scoffed from where he stood next to him.

“Just cause you’re on your way to being an Olympian doesn’t make you hot, Kuroo.”

The blocker spun around to face him, working a shit-eating grin on to his face.

“That’s because my dashing good looks already do that for me,” he retorted, “the whole Olympian angle just _accentuates_ \- don’t you think so, Kawajiri?”

The opposing captain rolled his eyes sarcastically and bumped shoulders with the slightly shorter male, clapping his own hands together to gather the rest of his team together.

“You should really stop antagonising Kawajiri-san, Kuroo-senpai.” Their manager chided from behind him, sorting out the notes they had made during the past few days of training. “One of these days he’s gonna forget that you’re joking and take offense, and who knows what that’ll do to your reputation.”

“I appreciate the concern Takahashi – I always knew you cared about your dear ol’ captain.” Kuroo answered, watching as the shorter student’s face slowly flushed a deeper shade. “But Kawajiri isn’t someone I can’t handle. And besides, it’s not my fault he constantly falls for the jab. That’s the first rule; you don’t engage the provocateur.”

The team manager rolled their eyes, tucking the clipboard to their side before assuming their full height.

“Whatever you say. Oh, and Coach Sasahara wants to talk to you in his office. I’ll handle the rest of clean up duty.”

The captain nodded, continuing to use the collar of his workout shirt to blot out the beads of sweat still streaming out his skin. “Did he mention what for?”

“Does Sasahara ever tell me what he wants to do?”

“Fair point. Alright, thanks Taka-chan. Make sure to rib Kawajiri one more time, just for good measure.”

They rolled their eyes before storming off, pointing antagonistically at Kageyama as he tried to throw one of the stray blue and yellow balls at Hinata. Kuroo chuckled to himself before making a U-turn to retrieve his gym bag and towel before heading in the direction of their coaches’ office.

Two minutes and a few polite ‘hellos’ to some of the infirmary staff later, Kuroo found himself knocking on Coach Sasahara’s door, the towel wrapped around his neck and the strap of his bag slung across his torso.

A gruff  “Come in” met his ears, and the captain granted himself entry, gaze averted away from the greying man until he had fully shut the door.

“Takahashi said you wanted to see me?” He asked, coughing out the words through his dry vocal chords.

It wasn’t that Kuroo was necessarily _afraid_ of Sasahara; he had already spent a little over 4 years with the silver haired man. It was just that Oikawa had always been better at handling him, and had always been the coach’s favourite between Chuo’s Star Attractions: Oikawa, Bokuto, and himself.

That, and Coach Nagakaichi from the National team was always more straightforward with him. Which was much appreciated. The more frank the person, the less likely he’d start to sass them.

“Tetsurou, yes, have a seat son.” Sasahara looked up from his paperwork, a wry smile on his normally stoic features. He waved a hand at the vacant chair on the opposite side of the table, and Kuroo tried not to stumble into the wooden confines. His bag dropped unceremoniously by his feet, hands coming to rest folded in his lap. “You can relax, kid, I’m not going to rip your head off. I just wanted to check in and see how you were coping.”

_Coping._

Kuroo didn’t like how that word sounded in the context of the request. And the tone that laced the syllables did little to ease his conscious.

“I’m fine,” he assured, “coping as well as I can be. Passing with flying colours, nothing too much for me to handle.”

Sasahara nodded, leaning back in his chair as he rested his elbows against the arm rests. He brought his hands up in front of his face, fingers forming a steeple as his gaze hardened ever so slightly. “And how’s your schedule for the next few months?”

_And there it was_.

The same concern Kenma, and seemingly everyone else in his life, held with how he was living his life. Most people would find something like this endearing – the amount of attention people had for his well being.

Kuroo found it stifling.

“I have permission from Coach Nagakaichi to miss a few practices in order to lead the boys at the Intercollegiate in December, and Coach Kaneda has agreed to letting me complete solo practices with my PT to continue to make training sessions here. I’ve also just received approval from the Board in re-arranging my class and lab timetables to suit my other… extracurricular commitments.”

The coach nodded again, absorbing the younger man’s words as they entered the atmosphere. “And you’re alright with all this?”

“Right as rain.” Kuroo strained a smile across his face, one that he tried to make look comforting. “I wouldn’t do all of this if I wasn’t at the very least confident in my capabilities.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded again. “Is it not appropriate for the player with the most experience both within the sport and within the captaincy position to do what they can do support the rest of their teammates?”

There was a brief moment of pause from the Chuo coach, their gazes locked together in an intense stare off. Kuroo puffed his chest up ever so slightly, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw in an attempt to seem more confident, more assured of himself, than he actually was.

And then Sasahara exhaled deeply, relaxing his own tensed joints after his silent interrogation. “So be it then, Tetsurou. But please do not be afraid to tell me if you need assistance in any way. Oikawa was the same when he was appointed captain in his second year, and I want you to have the same support we all gave him.”

Kuroo nodded, murmuring his own affirmations before reaching down to grab the handles of the bag. With another nod and a polite “Excuse me”, he stood up and exited the office, not bothering to indulge the coach in glancing back at him.

If he did, it could be considered an admission of defeat.

And Kuroo Tetsurou was far too proud to admit defeat.

 

* * *

 

By the time he finished showering and changing in the locker rooms, the rest of the boys had left him behind. It was nearing dusk, and the rest of the Hachioji campus was slowly emptying of students who were finished with their final lectures and tutorials for the day. Kuroo’s hair was still damp from the quick rinse, and it laid flat on top of his head like a poorly made toupee.

With steady steps towards the nearest station, Kuroo fished around in his bag to check his phone. Normally there would be nothing of interest after an afternoon practice, and instead the action was one of habit created by the influence of Social Butterflies Oikawa Tooru and Bokuto Koutarou.

But that afternoon provided a strange deviation form the norm, with an unknown number displayed on the screen signalling a missed call from a little over two hours prior.

The blocker frowned, lips pulled taut against his face as he tried to discern the mysterious caller. The number itself looked vaguely familiar, and if it was a professional matter then either his trainer or manager would have emailed him instead of calling him.

(“More reliable,” he had told them, “because with the way life is right now, there’s no way I can have a thirty minute phone call for a PR campaign like the rest of the guys.”)

Unlocking his phone and checking the call history, there was no sign of a voicemail being left by the caller. In the past he would have ignored it; if it were important then they would try and get through to him another time, or would have another means of contacting him. But something in his stomach said he needed to follow it up, that he’d be _stupid_ if he didn’t follow it up.

Readjusting his bag, he pressed the missed call and brought the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone signalling the call connecting.

“Hello, Naoi Manabu.”

Kuroo blinked.

“Coach Naoi? You called me?”

The man on the other end of the call choked on air, spluttering ever so slightly as he attempted to regain his composure because-

“Kuroo! I’m glad! I was worried that you changed your number from your high school days.” Coach Naoi still sounded the same – voice a little rough around the edges and perpetually exhausted – and he could practically see his old high school coach slumped over his desk in the staff room, surrounded by empty mugs stained with black coffee. “How’ve you been? Congratulations for Jakarta, and for the FIVB.”

“Ah, thank you. Hard work and team efforts, y’know.” He replied, his free hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “How… How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes, yes! Sorry, I should have emailed, or called at a better time. Were you busy? Was I interrupting-”

“With all honesty, Coach, these days it’s _never_ a good time to call me. But I’ll happily make do when I can.”

Naoi chuckled into the receiver. “Same old Kuroo, even if you are all grown up.” In the distance, Kuroo heard something squeaking – maybe an old chair in the staff room, or a ladder being rolled back into storage. “This may seem very out of the blue but I’ve just called to ask a favour of you.”

Kuroo hummed in curiosity, eyes darting from side to side as he crossed the road and passed under the entryway for the station. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know how in the loop you are with the going on of Nekoma now that you’re busy with your career, but our boys’ team just qualified for Nationals as the winners of the Tokyo Prefectural finals.”

The ravenet paused, moving to the side of the hallway in order to keep talking without distracting himself with the flow of traffic, or some other jackass on a phone. He let out an impressed whistle at the news, eyebrows involuntarily rising up his forehead. “They beat Fukurodani, huh? Your boys are already better than we were back in the day.”

“Well, almost. It was a match point technicality… And while a win is a win, we still have a long way to go. There were a lot of mistakes being made, spikes going through, shoddy receives.”

“Error from just lack of practice?”

“To an extent, it’s also a lack of experience as a whole. We still have connections with other schools for practice matches, but it now that Haiba, Inuoka, Teshiro, and Shibayama have graduated they’re a little uneasy with experienced senior players.”

“What about the old man?”

“Retired the year Kozume, Yamamoto and Fukunaga graduated.” Naoi explained with a tired sigh. Kenma never told him that happened, why didn’t he know about that? “I’m doing the best I can, but there’s only so much I can do alone. That, and Nekomata visited me yesterday afternoon with word from old Coach Ukai that he may or may not have recruited the Demon Duo, your disciple and the pinch server to help train Karasuno after they qualified against Shiratorizawa for the Miyagi reps.”

Kuroo tutted his tongue. “They even got Tsukki to help out? That’s a very dangerous combo.”

“Then you can understand my request?”

He did.

And though his mind told him a thousand reasons to decline, his heart just wasn’t in the right place to give up an opportunity like that. It wasn’t in his nature to be so dismissive, nor to ignore a moment such as this.

“I’ll gladly help you whip them into shape Coach, just give me a time and a place.”

The groan Naoi released did little to hide how relieved he was, and again Kuroo’s mind flashed back to high school where he witnessed the complete array of moods faced by his ex-coach.

“You’re a lifesaver, did you know that?”

“That’s a new one, Naoi, but I’ll take it.” He hummed, tone waving off the elation in the older man’s voice. “Word of warning, I do have to work around a pretty hectic schedule…”

“I can only imagine; Chuo, Panthers, and Ryuujin Nippon? It’s a miracle you’re alive.” Naoi jested. “But that’s fine. I’ve also gotten confirmation from Yaku and Kai that they’ll help out as well, so I need to work around their jobs as well. If you still remember the volleyball club email then just send through your availabilities until January and I can do what I can… Maybe I’ll have a rundown by the end of the week?”

“Were you thinking on practice a week with us three?”

“A fortnight, maybe. Don’t want those kids to get too reliant on you all.”

“May as well let them learn while they have the chance – especially if you want them to wreck those crows.”

Naoi murmured to himself, syllables barely forming a “Maybe” before he spoke up. “I owe you one Kuroo, really. I’ll treat the three of you to a round after the first practice.”

“I’m holding you to that Naoi.” Kuroo said, listening to the familiar laughter echo through the receiver before the call ended.

There was a moment of hesitation, both in the blocker’s steps to begin walking to the platform and in his mind, but the paused passed as quickly as it arrived. He stalked through the rush hour crowds, phone still clenched tightly in his fist as he swiped his travel card and made a beeline for his usual platform.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, yet at least a head and a half over every other commuter, Kuroo waited patiently for the train to arrive, mind reeling over another promise he had forced himself to keep.

Maybe not forced, rather felt entitled to.

Because he was proud of his Nekoma days, proud of the time and effort he spent whipping his team into shape and working towards Nationals in order to have the Battle at the Garbage Dump with Sawamura and his Dumb, Unreal Children™. But did that really mean he had to give up more time he already didn’t have for kids who probably had no clue as to who he was?

He stifled a growl, watching as the train pulled into the terminal. Through the windows he saw how few seats were left in the passing carriages, and when compared to how many people were waiting with him on the platform he was certain he would have to take the next train.

Bottom lip pulled between his teeth, Kuroo brought his phone up towards this face, fingers decreasing the brightness before he opened up a long forgotten group chat that involuntarily made his lips quirk downwards.

**Kai Nobuyuki**

| 

**Yaku Morisuke**  
  
---|---  
  
_You’re both stupid.   (6:45pm)_

_Well hi to you too Tetsu-kun.   (6:45pm)_

_Did Coach Naoi finally get through to you?   (6:45pm)_

_You say that like it would’ve been hard for him to convince me_ _(6:46pm)_

_I meant actually being able to contact you.   (6:46pm)_

_I only hear of you, not from you.   (6:46pm)_

_Congrats on the past year though. So proud_ _(6:46pm)_

_Our Idiot Captain. Who’d have thought he’d be off doing good things, Nobu?  (6:47pm)_

_I certainly didn’t.   (6:47pm)_

_Mackerel loving loser   (6:47pm)_

_I take full offense.   (6:48pm)_

_It was one fight in first year   (6:48pm)_

_Let it go   (6:48pm)_

_I’ll die before then   (6:49pm)_

_Reasons why I miss high school   (6:50pm)_

_Awwww   (6:50pm)_

_Why I don’t*  (6:50pm)_

_Lmao my bad  (6:51pm)_

_Cold   (6:51pm)_

_Who are you and what have you done with Nobu   (6:52pm)_

‘Just like old times…’ He thought to himself, watching as Yaku and Kai immediately begun their back and forth, almost forgetting his presence in the chat entirely. It was a miracle that the three of them ever got things organised – for school and for volleyball practice – with the way those two went on. How they somehow survived another three years together at university was beyond him. Kuroo almost regretted not tagging along with them.

Almost.

Not really.

Yakkun was a cool dude, but definitely the type to get on his nerves pretty easily.

_Oi, Kuroo   (7:02pm)_

_Wow you remembered me  (7:02pm)_

_It only took you 10 minutes   (7:02pm)_

_Is this a new record   (7:02pm)_

_As cool as it is that you’re coming back to help out…   (7:03pm)_

_You’ve actually got time to do it right?   (7:03pm)_

_Don’t lie to us either dipshit   (7:03pm)_

_Kenma tells us all the time about how you look like you wanna sleep  (7:04pm)_

He groaned inwardly.

One of these days, he thought, he was going to have serious words to Kenma about privacy and Blackhawk friendships.

_That’s rich coming from our dearest Kenma-chan   (7:04pm)_

_But no, I don’t have time   (7:04pm)_

_But lack of time never stopped me before   (7:05pm)_

_It should.   (7:05pm)_

_For someone so smart you really are an idiot  (7:05pm)_

_-Kuroo Tetsurou just took a screenshot-_

_Posterity shot. Plz continue roasting me while I stop listening   (7:06pm)_

_Seriously Kuroo, you have three different tournaments in the next few months   (7:07pm)_

_Technically 2   (7:07pm)_

_That still means no time   (7:07pm)_

_Seriously guys, I’m fine, no need to worry, yeah?   (7:08pm)_

_And I have you guys to fall back on because you luuuuuv me   (7:08pm)_

_Please never use that word like that ever again.   (7:09pm)_

_You wound me Nobu-chan~   (7:09pm)_

_You’ll wound yourself if you don’t look after yourself more   (7:09pm)_

_Yes mother, thank you for the reminder   (7:10pm)_

The sound of rumbling wheels on a track pulled his gaze up away from the screen, the next train fast approaching in the now early nightlight.

When he glanced back down, he saw Yaku type for an absurd amount of time before Kai chose to respond in his stead.

_Just let us know if you need to step down. Naoi and the kids’ll understand. Don’t be afraid to take a break.   (7:12pm)_

He left the chat on read, proceeding to lock the device and slip it into his tracksuit jacket before he boarded the train and wedged himself into one of the open spaces on the opposite side of the carriage. His bag knocked against his knees, alongside every other commuter’s bodies before he resigned himself to the silence.

He needed a break, Kuroo agreed with that sentiment. But was his pride going to let him stand down so easily? No, not at all.

As the train began to trundled along the tracks, he wracked his brain for free moments in time to help out with trainings. Not mornings – he had class and labs in the morning after the timetable shuffle. Weekends were divided between Panasonic and Ryuujin Nippon, with a few PT sessions through the weekdays to try and make up for what he was now missing. And he was picking up Chuo training twice a week in the lead up to the Intercollegiate.

He could probably consider this PT if he really worded it right to his trainer and manager. Hell, he it’d be easy practice but that’s better than slacking off.

Kuroo made a mental note to write up a basic week schedule and send it to Naoi once he got home. But for now he’d rest, because when else was he going to get the chance to?

 

* * *

 

“How are you still here? Go home!”

(Name) looked up from her desk, blinking her eyes rapidly as she began to focus on the person in front of her.

“I could say the same to you Fujioka. You’re normally out of here by 6, regardless of how much work we still have to do.” She ribbed, smirking coiling its way onto her face. Fujioka rolled their eyes, forearms resting against the top of the divides separating their desks.

“I’m already in a committed relationship with my bed (Surname), it would get very complicated if I did the same with my job.”

“It’s fascinating that you’ve found a way to say you’re lazy in the most concerning way ever.” She hummed, fingers forming a steeple in front of her mouth as she dropped her pen and stared up at her colleague.

They laughed and shrugged their shoulders, dismissive, but still holding the same kernel of fatigue everyone working the Imai Project had.

“I’m finishing up some stuff here, I need to clear up my schedule as soon as I can.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Because doting on my younger brother is paradise, definitely.” The designer rolled her eyes, watching as her friend let out an ugly snort. “He’s got a competition in after New Year’s, and since I have no idea how far his team is gonna go, I need to shave a month off of my workload just in case.”

They let out a low whistle, one that bordered on condescending and impressed.

“You move to Tokyo for that kid, you work overtime for him and he still thinks you’re doing it for yourself.”

The woman shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s how childhood works.”

She and Fujioka Minori had known each other for the better part of six years, and the dynamic had yet to change. Polar opposites when it came to work ethic, yet similar when it came down to humour, food, and disdain for stupid people. Though familiar with each other, they hadn’t grown as friends until they both were accepted into Kyoto City University of Arts and were forced to work alongside each other in their Introduction to the Theory of Classical Art class. Upon hearing their friend’s plans to move to the capital – for her brother of all people – they too packed their bags and left, also helping her snag a job at their current design firm, Orion.

Fujioka themselves hadn’t changed much – maybe a few bad haircuts over the course of their friendship – but they still held the same “Do the bare minimum and still succeed with flying colours” rhetoric they had in their university days. Which physically hurt someone like (Name). But Fujioka was nice, was more reasonable than most people they met, so perhaps that was a fair trade off.

“So what’d you need from me?” (Name) asked, stretching out the tension in her shoulders. Fujioka ducked down behind the divider for a second before reappearing, their left hand holding one of the folders their firm used to compile client design briefs. Her lips tugged into a frown.

“More work, unfortunately. The boss put it up for volunteers and it’s been going around all day. No one else wanted it; a complete small time gig-“  

“Experience is experience.” The seated designer snatched it from their hands, immediately flicking it open so they could scan the opening page.

A small indie startup located in Shimoki wanted to commission a designer to assist with branding for the business. They wanted to have something together by the end of the year so that they could open by February. Open to ideas, unfamiliar with the process of outsourcing in general and looking for advice.

“This is a walk in the park.”

“I know it is.”

“And there are no other takers?”

“Look at the commission fee and cut, do you really think anyone in this office would take on something that small?”

(Name)’s gaze flittered upwards for a moment, eyebrow arced curiously before resumed flipping through the design brief. “Then why is this only appearing at my desk while I’m stuck doing overtime?”

Fujioka huffed in defeat. “I was gonna take it but with my quarter on Imai and the Kawanishi gig I’m heading there’s no way I’ll have time for it… Even if it is a simple one to smash out.” They turned to lean their elbow on the divider, hand resting in the cradle formed by their palm. “Stupid Kawanishi…”

The other designer frowned. “If you need more time I can-”

“I’m not letting you cover for me on Imai _,_ this’ll be the fourth time this year you tried to lighten my workload.” Fujioka began, sending a glare her way. “I appreciate it (Name), really, but I’m fine with letting this one go… Even if it’s to you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh it is, especially because you don’t seem to sleep. What’s your secret? No carbs? Salt-free diet? The blood of virgins sacrificed under the light of a blue corn moon?”

“No dignity.” She retorted, shutting the folder and placing it on the tray labelled _IN_. “I’ll take it and pass on the notification to Hirose tonight so I can start it tomorrow.”

“I’ll let him know,” her friend chimed, tapping their hands on the partition before standing up to their full height, “I’m heading off anyway, and I’m pretty sure he’s still in his office.” Their mouths twitched a little. “Are you gonna be camping here again or…?”

“Almost done updating the report for Hirose and I just finished the revisions Imai-sensei wanted for the billboard graphics. If I’m good I might be able to get a head-start on…” (Name)’s fingers flipped open the folder’s cover and she leant back, trying to catch the name of her new project, “ _Vermillion_? Oh god, I hope this really is an easy gig.”

“Experience is experience!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Fujioka disappeared behind the divider, and the only signs of life that filled the office were the clattering of tools across her desk and the sound drawers open and closing. A few minutes passed and (Name) had already resumed typing on her laptop by the time her friend was done.

“Don’t miss the last trains, the last one to Nerima passes through Shinjuku’s main station at-”

“Ten to midnight, yes, I know.” (Name) didn’t bother looking back up at them. “I’ll be out of here in two hours, maybe, it’s only 7.”

She didn’t catch the way her friend’s eyebrows furrowed, or the concern that flashed across their features. “If you say so… Take it easy (Name).”

“See you tomorrow Minori.”

And then they were gone, the conversation being filled with the clicks of the keyboard under her fingers. Her eyes strained under the fluorescent light above her, and for a moment she was distracted by the shadows of dust particles floating around her. Her fingers as she sat and watched.

_What am I doing with my life?_

(Name) pushed herself upright, leaning back against the backrest of her chair while her head lolled to look directly at the ceiling. She should be at home right now, or at the studio working on anything. But no, she was at Orion Designs, wasting away behind a desk because of her own dumb pride.

She dropped her head on to the cool wood, letting her eyes flutter shut for a moment in order to enjoy the silence.

It wasn’t long, though, before her wandering mind was brought back to earth at the sound of a new email, quickly followed by a long forgotten text chime.

Her hand slammed into the table near where she had left her phone last, fingers fumbling clumsily before finding the familiar shape and dragging it back down into her lap.

From Mum.

She opened it with narrowed eyes, uncertain of what her parents could possibly need from her now.

**Mum**

_Hi sweetheart. Just letting you know Dad and I can’t wait to see you and Ryouta for Christmas and New Year’s. Let us know what day you’re coming down and we’ll clear our schedules for you two! Love you x    (7:35pm)_

“Oh fuck, Christmas.” The designer grumbled, immediately going to type a response. If she didn’t do it then, she would forget, and then she’d have both parents on her ass.

_Hey ma, will do. Need to double check when Ryouta’s holidays start or else we might need to cut in on his last week… we should be able to stay the full week though, but yeah, will let you know. Love you too   (7:36pm)_

Another minute past, and though she had seen the message, the older woman didn’t bother to answer.

“Oh so you can leave _me_ on read… Thanks Ma…” She mumbled, dropping her phone back onto the desk before she sat upright once more, hand going to the touchpad in order to open her emails.

When she didn’t see anything in her work email she switched to her personal, being met with an email entitled

**Commission Inquiry on Small-Medium Piece**

Clicking on it, she skimmed through the body as quickly as she could, trying to discern whether or not taking on another side job so close to the holiday season was worth the money. The email read as most of her new jobs tended to do: a friend or colleague had either bought an original piece or commissioned her to do one, hung it up somewhere for people to see and then passed on her details to those interested. Most of the base information was on her website, but often specifics had to be hashed out through email or interview – whenever she had the fucking _time_ for a face-to-face interview.

The client – Nakanishi – was polite enough, even more so than some of the ones she had received earlier that year, and wanted to know specifics on price, size, and mediums that were available for his intention. His girlfriend, another mutual acquaintance of the workmate who had recommended a (Surname) artwork, was a fan of the pieces she saw as well. Nakanishi hammed up his intentions of proposing, and his desire to promise with a smaller, personalised work. A cute story, but the details of _what_ he wanted to have done were where (Name) faltered.

Was it worth accept a finicky, stake-heavy job so close to the holiday season?

Her worries were quelled when she read the closing paragraph of the email.

_‘Although I intend to propose, I’m still looking for a ring and do not have a set date in mind. I understand that even though this is a relatively small work it will take time to create perfect. I can happily wait for when the piece is finished, no rush at all. I’m also out of the country on business until mid-January and am only contactable via email. If you are able to accept this commission then I can happily wait until I return so we can discuss face-to-face.’_

“Mr. Nakanishi, you have yourself a deal.” She clapped and rubbed the palms together before composing a confirmation email. She hadn’t received any commission requests for 2019 yet, meaning she could start compiling as soon as possible, and if this Nakanishi guy was as nice in real life as he was in email then she was certain that he’d be an easy client.

Barely five minutes passed before she sent the email.

And regret immediately filled her stomach.

Because she still had to work on the Imai project through to January in preparation for the box-sets and collectors editions of the actual goddamn _webcomic_.

She looked at her hands, then at the screen, and then proceeded to drop her head back down onto the table.

“You did it again…” She whispered disbelief at herself. “Absolute fuck.”

(Name) snapped her head up as a jolt of adrenaline coursed through her veins, eyes zeroing in on the newly acquired folder from Fujioka.

If she started that now, organised a meeting in the next few days with the client and pulled a couple of late nights at the office then maybe she could get that done before December… And then she could fully focus on the rest of the December _and_ January work for the Imai job… Which would then clear up–

(Name) scooted herself forward, hands grabbing hastily at both the Vermillion folder and the Imai file before sprawling both across her desk. The laptop shut from the force of her hands movements and speed, immediately getting pushed back and replaced with an array of equipment from different drawers and shelves lining her small walled off area.

With her lip trapped between her teeth and her eyebrows knitted together, she started sketching, eyes darting back and forth between the folder and her page.

When she looked at the clock again, it was closer to 9pm, and the dread settled into her stomach at the idea that maybe she wouldn’t make the last train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroo-centric feat. our nekoma third years who honestly deserve more love from the fandom. I had way too much fun with that conversation, and ngl I cant wait for all of them to interact face to face.  
> and poor Artist-chan, just tryna make ends meet and not doing any favours for herself.
> 
> also, as stated on my twitter, I'll be trying to do weekly uploads alternating between UCB and LAOAT. I'm officially on break from university for the next three months, and with the way I've been going so far I'm hoping I can have both of these stories done right before I need to go back.


	4. #6e9ec3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did ya hear he didn’t even get an offer for a B-List team in the second league? Talk about manning his own hype-”
> 
> “Kuro-”
> 
> “But if you wanna know, then it's probably because I’ve been getting death glared by Team Mum for the better half of three hours-”
> 
> “Tetsurou.”
> 
> //
> 
> “But you guys did okay?”
> 
> “Hiro did great, I almost fucked us over with a pinch serve.”
> 
> “Language.”
> 
> “Yes ma’am.”

_ November, 2018 _

Of the things Kuroo had anticipated to gain in aiding the Nekoma Boys Volleyball Team, the sinking feeling of unease was very low on the list.

Maybe, like a 9, on a list of 12 things total.

And it wasn’t as if he  _ knew _ why the unease was there either – he hadn’t necessarily anticipated every cause or effect that could occur in a casual afternoon training session.

On the one hand, it could be the palatable discomfort of Coach Naoi’s introduction he gave to the three alum; the looks of awe from seeing familiar faces, or at the very least putting familiar names to more distinguishable faces; or even the energy that permeated through the air as each member tried their best to follow instructions without getting smacked in the face by a stray ball, or embarrassment,  or both if they were anything like Lev Haiba during the first few team practices.

On the other hand, it could be caused by the harrowing glare that Yaku Morisuke was maintaining whenever he was within ball-throwing distance of the libero. Which was, technically, anywhere in the gym, since Yakkun always had an arm on him that screamed he used to love baseball before volleyball.

The back of his neck prickled with heat, and Kuroo refrained from turning around when he heard the ex-starting libero call out for the boys to start doing diving receives, the sound directly across the gym from where he stood.

No, it was  _ definitely _ because of Yakkun.

The blocker sighed and threaded a hand through his hair as calmly as he could – the less off-put he appeared by Yaku’s constant glower the better. He couldn’t let the kids know he was slightly terrified of the light-haired male, not when the former could actually slam dunk the guy through a basketball hoop.

“Manager-chan!” Kuroo called out, waving a hand over to the nervous first year who was standing near Naoi. “I wanna check on the notes you’ve been taking.” He exhaled a laugh, “don’t look at me like that, I won’t bite your head off.”

The boy looked up at the coach, who nudged his shoulder encouragingly, before he himself nodded and quickly dashed over, clipboard tucked against his shirt-clad chest. Wordlessly, he handed him the clipboard, eyes darting down to stare at the floor. Kuroo hummed in thanks, quickly flipping through the pages while he absorbed the numbers and names, all the while trying to ignore the fact that Yaku’s glare had amplified.

“These are good notes for a first year manger,” he began, being sure to lay on the approving tone, “did you manage in middle school as well?”

The boy shook his head. “I used to play, but I’ve always had bad hips. I had a bad injury right before the school year started and my parents banned me from playing, just in case I make my condition worse… Coach Naoi was nice enough to let me manage for this year, and maybe try out again in second year if my condition is a little better.”

Kuroo nodded solemnly at the confession. “Wing?”

He nodded again. “I was pretty good too… N-Not to sound overconfident or anything! I-I just-”

“You can be like that around me, don’t worry.” The raven-haired man replied, “Morimoto, right?” The manager nodded. “If you ever feel like joining in with the drills, or helping some of the first years with their receives, it’d be much appreciated. It’d be a good bonding experience, and it would mean you could get away from Naoi every once in a while.”

Morimoto shook his head, “I don’t wanna-”

“Get in the way? You wouldn’t. Besides, despite your parents’ worry, a little physical activity would be good for you. And if you do plan on trying out again, you can’t let your skills get rusty.

Fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, before he nodded with new vigour. “I- Thank you, Kuroo-senpai..”

“Don’t mention it,” the older man waved his hand before pausing his examinations, “but I do have a question.” Morimoto nodded, eyes glimmering ever so slightly. “Do you have other records from the training sessions this year? And the ones for the last few years, for our current third years?”

The first year furrowed his brow in thought before he nodded. “Coach Naoi should have some in his office that I can access…”

“Would you mind adding up the totals and finding an average for each player? I want to figure out their PBs and see how much time we really need to invest in improvement versus development. Their basics look good, but that might be because they’re trying to show off.” The amusement wasn’t lost on the manager, who’s ears tinged red ever so slightly. “If that’s not too much to ask, of course. I can always sic that job on Naoi-”

“I can do that!” He enthused, “If you’re letting me join in with training then it’s the least I can do.”

“I put my faith in your skills, Manager-chan.” Kuroo grinned, extending the clipboard back out to the boy.

Before it was pressed back against the younger man’s side, Kuroo’s gaze narrowed on a series of characters he hadn’t realised he skimmed over.

_ (Surname) Ryouta _ .

Kuroo watched as Morimoto resumed his position next to their coach, mind wandering over the syllables displayed on the page he had just barely glimpsed at.

It was a coincidence.

There was no way that Artist-chan and this Ryouta kid were related.

(Surname) was a common last name, wasn’t it? And what were the chances that his paths would cross over with hers because of a  _ sibling _ of all things? There were more chances of them bumping into each other at the station just like last time.

(He swallowed the reminder of the meeting, and just how dumb he must have looked to the woman.)

The blocker folded his arms across his chest as he turned on his heel, staring out across the team of teenagers as they finished their last set and collapsed in different intervals on the gym floor. Kai clapped his hands together, waving the team towards the benches so they could take a break before they were required to clean and close the gym.

The Ryouta kid had to be here, his name was on the sheet, so how had he not noticed which one-

“Oi Ryouta, I’m allowed to crash at yours tonight, right?”

_ That was far too easy. _

Kuroo turned his head from left to right, faking a casual scan of the total layout of the gym before his eyes were trained on the boy being called out to. A second year, with (h/c) hair slick with sweat and a smirk that haunted Kuroo from behind the doors of a closing train carriage. A setter.

_ Why was every setter he knew such a pretty boy? _

“Course, but you have to shout dinner.” Ryouta answered, punctuating the sentence with a long gulp of water from the yellow bottle.

‘The kid even  _ sounds _ like her…’ Kuroo groaned inwardly, letting his mind slot each piece of the puzzle back into its rightful place. ‘But it's still a coincidence – because what’re the chances he has-”

“Is your sister gonna be there? Cause I’m running low on cash this month.”

_ Fuck, why was this so goddamn easy? _

At the mere mention of the word ‘sister’, the third years of the team immediately sprung to life with energy Kuroo was surprised they still had in them.

The captain – Nori, middle blocker – draped an arm around his underclassman’s shoulders and tugged him into his side. “What’s this about our dear Ryo’s Hot Older Sister? Any news for me? She’ll be watching us play at Nationals, right? Spare a little time for a guy like me?”

“Please stop making those eyes whenever my sister is involved, Cap. Really. It’s gross. And even if she was, you're banned from ever seeing her. Ever. Hiro back me up.”

The first kid who called out nodded, lips still pressed around the nozzle before he took a few seconds to reply. “My will to live would come back before she ever took interest in you, Cap.”

“C’mon guys,” the starting setter – Yamaguchi – tutted, “let’s tone it down the talk of (Surname)’s Hot Sister and instead talk about Nori’s Hot-”

“I’m already trying to keep the principal out of my mum’s pants – I don’t need you animals bothering her as well!”

“Then maybe you should all run an extra couple of laps of the gym, y’know, just to get all that extra energy out your systems?”

The words left Kuroo’s mouth without his consent, but the look of disbelief that crossed each boy’s face was enough to justify the subconscious choice of annoying the entire team he was going to be aiding.  _ One _ of the them had to play the Bad Cop.

There was a chuckle, one that tried to diffuse the sudden tension, before the reality of Kuroo’s seriousness dawned on all of them. “10 laps, consider it your cool down before you have to clean. I’ll even let you guys count them.” The blocker continued, turning to face them with a hand resting on his jutted hip.

Static filled the air as Kuroo and Nori stared at each other, both unwilling to back down from the challenge facing them. The older man lifted his chin and titled his head to the side, as if goading the current captain into going against the order. There was a beat of silence before Nori moved, shoes squeaking as he started his laps.

On queue the rest of the team followed suit, all keeping pace with each other as one of the second years started keep track of their counting.

A low whistle caught Kuroo’s attention, and he pivoted again on his foot in order to address his friend.

“It’s like if Yamamoto was captain.” Yaku laughed, taking position on Kuroo’s left, as if he hadn’t been sending him death glares throughout the entirety of practice.

“That’s a horror story in less than ten words.”

“You say that as if our Taketora  _ wasn’t _ the Captain once you graduated, Kuro.” Kai retorted as he sauntered to the blocker’s right side.

“They’re lucky they got to Nationals again that year.”

“And without Kuroo’s motivational speech to hype them up – it’s more of a miracle than sheer dumb luck.”

Kuroo’s brows pinched into a frown. “Your sarcasm hurts, but it won’t hurt more than my foot up your ass.” The threat, though thinly veiled, was growled out and dismissed by a simple wave of Yaku’s hand.

“We have two whole months of weekly training with these kids Kuroo, you don’t wanna show off how violent you can get right of the bat.” Kai placated, hand patting the former’s shoulder in an attempt to de-escalate. It worked – because how could Kuroo say ‘no’ to a dude with a natural Bodhisattva face?

“Yeah, you’re right… Can’t fly too far off the handle.”

“What was that about anyway?” Yaku began, moving so he stood directly in front of the taller man and forcing himself to look up. “First you willingly rearrange your entire schedule so you can make a weekly practice for your old high school, then you offer the injured manager a chance to train – don’t deny it, I’ve learnt to read lips-”

“Is it because you’re too short to hear anything from up here-”

“And now you’re gonna play bad cop at the drop of a hat to the kids who have already decided you’re the nicer one of us three?” The libero folded his arms and widened his stance, a visual sign he was not going to budge until he had a decent answer. “What’s going on man?”

Kuroo clicked his tongue at them. “Nothing is going on Yakkun. Can’t I-”

“The ‘I-Have-Always-Been-A-Good-Guy’ Schtick isn’t gonna work here, man, we’ve known you for too long.” Kai interjected calmly, still maintaining the easy look on his face. “Was it the girl comment? Cause you did the exact same thing when the Soccer Captain of Nekoma said something about Lev’s sister at the closing ceremony that year.”

“Fuji was, and still is, a piece of trash.” Kuroo determined, “Did ya hear he didn’t even get an offer for a B-List team in the second league? Talk about manning his own hype-”

“Kuro-”

“But if you wanna know, then it's probably because I’ve been getting death glared by Team Mum for the better half of three hours-”

“Tetsurou.”

The mix of disdain and vague annoyance from both Yaku and Kai’s call out left a strange feeling in the pit of the blocker’s stomach, and forced him to sigh in what could only be considered defeat.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind with uni and stuff…I had to cut down on training for the Panthers and for Ryuujin Nippon in order to make the cut for the Intercollegiate…. Not to mention I needed to change lab dates for my Master-”

“And yet you decided to come back and help out at the drop of a hat when you really are running out of time.” Kai hummed, watching a brief glint of confirmation flitter across the man’s face.

“You’re a piece of work.” Yaku agreed, rubbing his chin with his hand in fake thought. “You deserved the Withering Stare, y’know.”

“That, and I  _ think _ I know that kid’s hot older sister. And that’s been bugging me non-stop because  _ God _ Yakkun, Kai you don’t understand she’s actually way better than ‘hot’. Like, I can’t comprehend it.”

“How’d you figure it’s the same person?”

“I got her last name.”

“That’s it?”

“Her surname?”

“Oh no, you two don’t start either – I am  _ still _ getting shit from Oikawa; like the private school boy can talk, he didn’t start calling the girl he has a thing for by her name until… Well actually I think he still calls her by that dumb nickname-”

“How about,” Kai clapped his hands together, cutting off the rambling jumble of words that swirled in the air, “we go for drinks after this with Naoi, and you can tell us all about your troubles and maybe even verbally admit that you’re an idiot.”

“That’s a lot of liquor we’d need Kai, and I’m  _ pretty _ sure he has university tomorrow.” Yaku advocated. The confidence in his voice was unsettling, especially because he  _ did _ in fact have a lab the following morning. Kai shrugged.

“Are you even in university if you don’t go in completely hungover?”

“It’s tempting,” Kuroo interjected, donning an apologetic look on his face, “but I’ve gotta rain check tonight. Got things to go over for tomorrow’s lab… I can do tomorrow afternoon though? You two are free, yeah?”

“Of course, because we’re normal, functioning adults with regular 9 to 5 jobs who don’t decide on committing to ridiculous extracurriculars that may or may not get themselves killed from overexertion.”

Kuroo blinked, lips pursed as Yaku’s gaze challenged him to reply. ‘Go ahead,’ it said, ‘tell me I’m wrong.’

“You’ve gotten braver since high school Yakkun, and I don’t know if I like it.”

“I mean, getting braver is better than suddenly having no charisma.”

Kuroo punched Kai’s shoulder, not bothering to acknowledge the fact the usual mediator of the trio was suddenly taking their shorter friend’s side.

But it was a fair assessment.

Maybe Kuroo needed to fortify his own confidence and figure out what the actual  _ fuck _ he was really doing with his life. 

 

* * *

 

The front door slammed shut, creaking on its hinges, before the sound was washed about by the sounds of rubber soles landing haphazardly on the wooden floor of the genkan.

Four thuds, followed by two heavy bangs.

Two people.

“Welcome home.” (Name), called, not bothering to look up from her sketchbook.

“Yo, sis.” Ryouta called, leading the second person down the hall. (Name) didn’t bother to look up to address them both.

“Hey Hiro, how’re you going?”

“It’s weird that you know it’s me, (Name).”

“Like Ryouta is ever gonna bring anyone else home on a weekday.” She ribbed, gaze flittering to her peripheral for second before back down to the page.

“Am I welcome if I bought dinner for the three of us?” Hiro inquired, stepping around the corner where the kitchen wall ended. He shook the plastic bag as he came into view, the scratching of the thin white plastic against take-away boxes filled the silence. She smiled and directed her attention to him.

“You’re always welcome here, even if you don’t bring me food. Ryo on the other hand,” she dragged her thumb across her throat, letting her tongue loll out from behind her teeth as she choked a little.

“Oh very funny, you say that even though  _ I’m _ the one who remembered your usual order from Fukushima’s.” Ryouta declared as he stooped down, fixing the blanket that covered the top of the kotatsu. The older woman rolled her eyes before returning to her work.

The back of the couch dipped from the weight of Hiro’s forearms, and the plastic bag knocked against her shoulder. “What’s this for, (Name)-nee?”

“I have no clue,” the designer mused, “but if I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”

Ryouta scoffed, hands slamming slightly against the table top. “And  _ not _ me? How dare you?”

“Did you buy me food? No. Did you insult my studio? Yes. Hence, Hiro is my favourite now.”

“There was a  _ spider- _ ”

“You’re bigger than it, just squish it!”

“I’m  _ allergic- _ ”

“Fear is not an allergy, dumbass-”

“So with your regular order, (Name)-nee, they didn’t have the pickled radish, is that okay?” Hiro inquired, shoving his hand into the bag in order to pull out her yakisoba dish. The woman looked up with a grin.

“I’ll forgive you just this once Hiro-chan, but only because Ryo is still my least favourite-”

Ryouta huffed and dropped ungracefully to the floor, elbows pressed against the shiny surface while he glared at his older sibling. “C’mon Hiro, m’starving.”

“Just put mine in the fridge, Hiro, I’ll have it tomorrow for lunch.” The designer assured, sending the teen a warm smile in confirmation.

The teen nodded, pushing himself back off the couch and back towards the kitchen, but not before Ryo grabbed the bag from his best friend’s grasp and pulled out the remaining containers.

“Told you she wouldn’t eat it tonight, could’ve saved a couple hundred yen for breakfast tomorrow.” Ryo clicked his tongue as he organised the mains and sides across the small surface. “Can you get the chopsticks too Hiro? We forgot to grab some.”

Short clangs echoed from the kitchen.

“I’ll give you money for your breakfast to make you feel better then.”

“You’ve never given  _ me _ money back that I spent on you.”

“You don’t clean the upstairs bathroom when you use it, I don’t wanna hear your whining.” (Name) argued, wagging her finger at the boy with an accusatory look on her face. It faded when Hiro came back, passing his best friend a set of chopsticks while he settled back down on to the floor.

“So how was school?”

“Please, sis, small talk isn’t your specialty.” Ryouta snorted, punctuating the sentence with the crack of plastic being teared from plastic. “Stick to drawing, you don’t need to talk for that.”

Hiro sat down at the left edge of the table, opening his own dinner with a hushed reservation.

“Hey, I’m trying. Hiro appreciates my attempts, don’t you Hiro?”

“If I give you half of my gyoza, will you leave me out of this conversation?” He asked warily, holding out one in the prongs of his chopsticks. She scoffed.

“I’ll take half of the gyoza and a third of your katsu. That’s my final offer.”

“It’s a trap, Hiro,” Ryo let out a low growl, placing a fist against the table’s surface, “that’s too high a price in order to avoid pleasantries.”

(Name) rolled her eyes and turned back around to let her back properly rest against the backrest.

“Lovely weather we’re having, right boys-”

“Ryo-”

“And the rain! Can you believe it? Climate change is really tearing us-”

“No Hiro-”

“Politicians, y’know? Never about the law-”

“Half my gyoza and I’ll buy dinner for the weekend!”

“Sold.” The designer turned her head back to face them, a coy smile on her face. “You’re a smart kid Hiro, much smarter than dear ol’ Ryo-chan over there. I worked retail during university, I can make shitty small talk for forever if I wanted.”

The copper-haired teen continued to divide the gyoza into a half empty one,

“But seriously,” she pivoted on her rear, stretching her legs out from underneath her bottom and throwing her left arm over the back of the couch, “how was school? You guys had training today right? Also Hiro, pass me gyoza on a napkin, they taste bad when they get re-heated.”

“We’re increasing training as much as we can,” Hiro supplied with a curt nod as he began to fulfil the older woman’s request, “cause there are only so many weeks until Nationals come around.”

“Monday and Wednesday mornings, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.” Ryo bit down onto a pod of edamame beans. “Coach Naoi even convinced the girl’s team to let us use half of their gym if we needed the space.”

“They didn’t qualify this year?” (Name) asked, cradling the napkin in her hand while she rearranged herself accordingly. Sketchbook on her lap, closed, and napkin resting on top of that.

(Grease stains be damned, she hadn’t eaten in 16 hours.)

“It’s getting harder and harder to qualify since most kids who compete want to go pro at some point… There’s stress to do well and then secure some type of scholarship or agreement with a university so that you don’t have to do  _ that _ well on the entrance exam.” Ryo sighed, resting his cheek in his right hand while his left continued to pick at his food.

“But you guys did okay?”

“Hiro did great, I almost fucked us over with a pinch serve.”

“Language.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And that’s why we’re doing more practices,” Hiro retorted, nudging his best friend in the forearm, “Coach Naoi knows we need more training and experience, so he’s gotten a couple of ex-students who have been to Nationals to come back and help us out… I think right up until the week before the competition next year…”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah! Yaku-senpai was the libero back when Nekoma was still considered a Powerhouse in defensive strategies-”

“And Kai-senpai was their vice-captain, and he’s a pretty good all-rounder-”

“And somehow Coach even got the  _ actual _ Kuroo Tetsurou t-”

(Name) gasped as the filling she was in the process of swallowing went down the wrong pipe, dispersing air from her lungs. She bashed her fist against her sternum, frantically trying to dislodge the vegetable in her airway.

Ryo moved first, scrambling up from under the kotatsu, knees making the wood jump, before he dashed into the kitchen. Hiro followed suit, moving to try and simultaneously hit in between the designer’s shoulder blades while she tried to perform the Heimlich on herself.

The (h/c) teen returned with a bottle of water, which he opened with haste and shoved into the awaiting hands of the woman, now hunched over her own lap. Hiro moved napkin and book away from her as she drunk with shaky hands. One second. Two. Three.

And then she breathed an airy ”Fucking hell” as crisp air filled her respiratory system once more. Her mind was filled with a mix of relief and disbelief because-

“Who, sorry?”

Ryo opened his mouth for a second, mind whirring at the obvious and incorrect response his older sister had provided, before Hiro took initiative.

“Kuroo Tetsurou…?” The teen retracted his hand slowly, moving away as the designer continued to compose herself once more. “You remember right…? He’s one of the players on Ryuujin Nippon… When we watched the Asian Games together you said he looked like a dude who’d help you out of the Red Light District but steal your wallet in the process.”

(Name) blinked. Yeah, that sounded like something she’d say.

“You good, sis?”

“Perfect, fantastic, a-okay,” she heaved a little more, waving her brother off and signalling him to sit back down. He obliged without hesitancy, frowning in her direction. “I didn’t know he went to Nekoma?”

Ryo scoffed as he dropped back down, returning to shovelling dry noodles into his mouth. “He’s the first Nekoma student to become a top tier athlete right out of high school. And he was in college prep and got into Chuo from his entrance marks as opposed to volleyball, so all the teachers love him-”

“Not Aoyama-sensei,” Hiro added as he too returned to his place at the table.

“But he hates everyone since he knows he needs to retire next year-”

“Good, no one even likes him now that we have Shibayama-sensei for history-”

“Hey kids, great info, love the gossip I’m getting and I’ll be sure to use it for the next Parent Teacher Day but you kind of lost me for a second there.”

The clattering of chopsticks scraping against plastic ceased as Ryo slowly craned his head back towards the older woman. “What’s with the sudden interest in my life?”

She shrugged, just as casual as someone who stopped choking mere seconds before, before she adjusted herself accordingly. “I gotta work on small talk, don’t I? Also I want the details of everything, just in case someone else’s parents try to make conversation. There can only be  _ one _ Good Guardian of Tokyo, ya feel?”

The (h/c) teen squinted his eyes in scrutiny before he nodded in simplistic defeat. “Training was good, they all tried to help us even if we weren’t playing the positions they’re familiar with. Most of the time we were trying our best to not look like complete fuck ups-”

“You always look bad Ryo-”

“But it got pretty awkward during the cool down.”

Hiro huffed despondently. “It’s all because of Nori-senpai-”

“Wait, which one is Nori?”

“The one that used to hit on you when you came to our games last year.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, hate that kid.” She tore one of her last gyoza pieces in half, brows furrowed. “How’d ya figure it’s his fault?”

“Cause he said some stuff that I don’t think Kuroo-senpai agreed with.” Ryo replied, laying his chopsticks across the half-empty container of food. “Y’know how Nori-senpai is sometimes, no filter when it comes to girls…”

“You should tell him he needs to work on that, he might get hit by someone when he gets to university. And emphasises that it’s ‘get hit’, not ‘get hit on’.”

“You can tell him yourself at Nationals if you want…. Maybe wait until  _ after _ though so our blocker is in good shape.” Hiro offered with a tight lipped grin. The regret coursed through his veins as the possibility of her attendance was expelled into the air.

“You  _ are _ coming to watch, right sis?”

(Name) hardened her gaze at her brother, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the insulation that she had  _ forgotten _ about the one important event happening in their lives right now.

“I’ve already N/A’d the days the competition runs through, just in case you guys make it all the way, and I’m working overtime over my holiday shutdown to stay on top of my very harrowing career. So  _ yes _ , Ryo, I’m gonna watch you. And I’m going for you too Hiro, so don’t you try and slack off.”

There was a unified confirmation from them both as they mulled over her words, taking to eat in silence while the designer finished the remaining morsels of her share of the gyoza. Wiping her mouth with the untouched part of the napkin, she quickly scrunched it up and lobbed it into the centre of the table with a grin.

“Also Ryo, make sure you let your school know you’ve gotta miss the last week of school for a family event. I can get Ma to write a note if you need? Or do you want me to go in-”

“I can tell them, it’s just,” he huffed, “do I have to go this year? We have Nationals!”

“And I have work and commission pieces to do; Ma and Pa expect both of us to be there so if I suffer then you’re suffering with me.” She turned her head slightly to address the second teen. “You’re welcome to come along too if your dad doesn’t have plans for the New Year period, Hiro.”

The copper haired teen nodded to himself at the offer.

“If Hiro-”

“Hiro doesn’t need to go to the party, he can just chill at the house while we entertain the relatives.”

“But-“

“Ryouta.”

He bit his tongue and nodded, not risking further argument in front of their guest. Hiro may have been his friend since the siblings moved to the capital city, but there was still an intense reluctance to expose him to the intricacies of their difficult Sibling Relationship.

(Name) took his silence as submission before she stood up, stretching out her back ever so slightly.

“If that’s all kiddies, I’ll leave you two alone for the rest of the night.” She pointed her finger at the two of them in warning. “Don’t stay up too late, yeah? You both have school tomorrow. And don’t even  _ think _ about sleeping in either, I’m working from home the next couple of days and I won’t hesitate to Small Talk you into attending.”

“We make no hard promises.” Ryo called, gaze still downcast.

She hummed in response, crossing the rest of the distance to her bedroom door and opening it. With one more wave in good night cast over her shoulder, she retreated for the evening, not sparing a secondary glance at the teenagers who hadn’t moved from the tension left by the slight disagreement.

Shutting the door behind her, she sighed and let her body collapse against the cool wood.

She  _ really _ needed to get a better handle on all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, sorry for the delay with this. life kinda kicked my ass and my lovely lovely beta reader is coping with finals like most of you lovely readers out there. 
> 
> (*cough* follow me on twitter so you're always in the know)
> 
> but lookie here, a chance for another encounter, how fantastic. I wonder how long it'll take this time~~
> 
> comments and kudos keep me going, as do keyboard smashes and squeals dearies xx


	5. #81aaca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not hard to exaggerate mouth movements and enunciate clearly at the same time, Chuko-san.”
> 
> “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I prefer Mister Reachy.”

_December, 2018_

Mid-December came faster than anyone could have anticipated, and with the looming shadow of Spring Nationals encroaching on the Nekoma Volleyball Team, the desire to achieve perfection had never been stronger.

Kuroo saw improvement from the team of rookies. And not just the superficial performances they demonstrated in the first two training sessions, but actually, genuine results that expressed real growth and determination from the group of hopefuls.

It made his heart swell.

He was _definitely_ going to have to rub this in Sawamura’s face (the next time he found time to catch up with the ex-Karasuno captain).

Their solution was to run internal practice matches, one after the other, in order to push each member of the team out of their comfort zones. Different play-styles meant different preferences, and that meant each player had to become more flexible in order to support each other. For what it was worth, Kuroo noticed that alongside the practical performance the internal relationships improved just as dramatically. For what it was worth, the third years were fantastic, but the absence of trust between them and the younger years was what had thrown the balance and the tempo of the team. Fragments lingered, sure, but it wasn’t as noticeable as when the three ex-students first re-entered the Nekoma gymnasium.

Yaku took to consulting the manager, reviewing the notes that were accumulated within the first hour of training. It just cemented the reminder that in another two hours, Kuroo would be expected back into the reality of adulthood.

(And yet he still prayed the day didn’t end. Wishful thinking be damned.)

Kuroo scanned the entire gymnasium, taking in the division of the players - bibbed and shirt-clad alike, with a decent mix of senior and juniors on each side. Regardless of the layers, each kid was drenched in layers of sweat, caused by overexertion. If this training started much earlier in the school year, Kuroo would have been much more lenient. But the deadline continued to creep closer, and the worry lines on Naoi’s face already ingrained themselves into his nightmares.

Perhaps, he considered, he was taking the stress of a third place ending for Chuo U at the Intercollegiate and the nearing Emperor’s Cup for the Panthers out on a group of kids.

Yaku even voiced his concerns after hearing about the results on the NHK’s coverage of the event.

(The talk happened at dinner the day after the Intercollegiate ended, a few days before the usual afternoon session with Nekoma. Yaku grilled him about it – all over an actual grill at a yakiniku bar in Ikebukuro – while Kuroo adamantly denied the accusation, to himself and to his friends.

Kai, though quiet and focused on the food, sent him equally disapproving stares in between bites of beef tongue.

 _God_ , when did they become so in sync with their guilt trips? What did he miss when they went to different universities?)

Pulling him from his thoughts, though, was the second year that caught his eye during their very first training session.

(Surname) Ryouta. The starting setter at the turn of the school year when his upperclassman officially retired from the sport. Sweat poured from his forehead and temples, trailing lines down his neck and against the red bibs that separated his team from the others. In his dominant hand, he clutched his water bottle while wearily glancing in the direction of their head coach.

Kuroo cocked a brow at the teen, but before he could call out to him, Ryouta himself took the first step.

“Coach Naoi,” his voice rung out above the idle chatter and deep breaths of air, “it’s already half-past, I have to-”

“That’s today?”

Naoi stood with Kai within the team wearing the usual black shirts of the training uniform, eyes wide with a mix of concern and disapproval lingering in the dark irises. The brief flash of panic that flared around the Head Coach was enough to get all three alum concerned with the conversation that was starting.

“I’ve been reminding you all week about this-”

“But are you _sure_ it’s today-”

“I can show you the very aggressive reminder I was sent this morning if you’d like.” The look the setter wore, though sheepish at first glance, held clear signs of shared dissatisfaction at the circumstances he found himself in.

“What’s today?” Nori inquired, head turning idly to the opposite team

“Ryouta’s ditching because of ‘family responsibilities’.” Another kid – Hiro, if Kuroo remembered correctly – supplied as he folded his towel and dropped it back onto the bench. Those two were close, he assumed, mainly due to the fact those two were always in cahoots over something, or appearing and disappearing in tandem with each other.  

“Our family has this big Christmas-New Years thing we do every year. My sister and I have to go back down to Kyoto early so that we can help finalise the details, and to actually be there when guests arrive.” Ryouta hunched his shoulders and dropped his gaze to his shoes.

“Sounds fake but okay.” Yamaguchi hummed, making Naoi nod his head aggressively. He patted the vice-captain on the shoulder, the grip less of a nod of agreement and instead one that begged to aid him in keeping composed.

“Trust me, I would _much_ rather train, but I’m the only boy on our side so I have to go.”

“He had a note, signed by his mother and confirmed with a phone call.” The coach tucked his clipboard in the pit of his arm and adjusted his weight as he turned to face the boy. “But it’s legitimate, they called last week to double check.”

Ryouta raised his hands, (h/c) strands no longer as damp as when the conversation began – in part of the heat from Naoi’s stare.

“We’re just running these practice matches,” Yaku placated with a grin – ever the pacifist when it wasn’t against Kuroo, “I don’t have any qualms with him leaving early.”

“Neither do I,” Kai agreed, “it is almost the new year.”

The boys turned to Kuroo expectantly. He raised his hands parallel to his chest and shrugged. “What? I want to whip you lot into shape and suddenly _I’m_ the bad guy! I have no reservations either.”

Every head snapped back towards Naoi, who looked as if his soul just left his body.

‘You were meant to be on my side Tetsurou,’ his expression said, ‘you were meant to be the good one.”

“Is your sister coming to get you?” One of the first years chirped, igniting the familiar look the current Nekoma captain wore whenever the eldest (Surname) was mentioned.

“For her sake, I hope she changed the plans.”

Even Kuroo heard the growl that laced the second year’s words.

Naoi kept a firm gaze on the setter. “Do you think you can do one more set at least?”

The subtext was clear to all of them. There was only so much time left. Every second counted. The three ex-players were made aware of the full situation. In the years after their enrolment, Nekoma had only achieved one other opportunity to attend Nationals; the year Yamamoto was Captain – which meant that only the current Third Year line up were truly aware of what playing on such a large scale meant.

Pressure was amounting – that much was clear – if it wasn’t then Kuroo, Yaku and Kai would not be there as their Last Hope.

Ryouta steeled a look of determination on to his face. “If my sister asks, you forced me to stay back.”

Naoi said nothing, and instead raised the whistle to his lips and blew, the shrill sound reverberating into the air of the gymnasium. “Rotation A! Change teams, c’mon kids we don’t have all night.”

While the teams were sorted, the group of alum huddled themselves on the side of the court next to the scoreboard, circled around the post of the net donning varying degrees of fatigue.

“Naoi needs to up the ante on his intimidation. If that was Nekomata, then the kid would have had no intention at all to try and leave a practice so close to the competition.” Kai chuckled, leaning against the padded part of the post with an uncharacteristic grin.

“You also forget that no-one in the history of the human race has been scared of Naoi. He’s soft by nature.” Kuroo retorted with a snort. “Nekomata is a family man too, he’d have said yes.”

“Of course he would have, apparently the (Surname) family has a bit of leverage.” Yaku began. “If the gossip in the staff room is anything to go off, then Ryouta’s parents are these well-known artists down in Kyoto – his mum comes from this long line of kimono designers while his dad is, like, the curator of a museum down there. They had an exhibit earlier this year.”

The name was familiar, faint memories of passing headlines about an exhibition down in Kyoto about the history of kimono designs and textiles in Japan created by the married couple. And those whispers, though soft, warned him that there was a prestige to the family – and more specifically to the woman who was definitely, totally, undoubtedly related to the kid.  

‘It’s a small world,’ Oikawa’s voice echoed in his mind, ‘m’not surprised you saw her again.’

“What have you been doing in the staff room, Yakkun? Dirty deeds, done dirty cheap?” He asked, donning a teasing smile across his features.

“Nothing that would warrant your interest, Mr Closet Hopper of Chuo-”

“Okay, you get caught making out in a closet at _one_ party and suddenly-”

“Keep it PG-13 guys, no one here wants to hear about the daring escapades of either of your dicks.”

The blocker and libero gasped in tandem, only speaking one word to each other.

“Language.”

The usual serene look on the spiker’s face vanished, and for the first time in a few weeks, the other two finally witnessed the exhaustion the former was bearing while being in such consistent proximity with the frenemies.

Kuroo’s lips twitched, and Yaku snorted as he clapped Kai on the chest. “You’ve missed us, don’t lie. Just because you’re not quick on the draw for jokes doesn’t mean you get to be salty.”

Kai shoved the libero, watching as the light haired male stumbled back with a chortle. Kuroo rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips, stretching out his back and waist ever so slightly.

“We may as well get this set over with so we can send him on his way.”

“What,” Kai titled his head, “worried about the wrath of his famous parents, Mister Celebrity?”

“Well if what he said was true… I’m more concerned about what his _sister_ will do to us if we don’t get this kid outta this gym.”

 

* * *

 

“Pardon how rude this will sound, but are you sure we didn’t arrive too early, (Name)-san?”

The designer shook her head and pressed the button to roll down the window. “I told him to be out by five, I don’t know _how_ he hasn’t realised it’s almost _seven_.”

“We could-”

“You know if I don’t bring him my parents will serve my head on a platter Sakamoto-san.”

“It would make a nice hood ornament.”

“Hey.”

The older gentlemen laughed, eyes flittering to the rear-view mirror in order to glance back at the woman in the back of the cabin. “Have you called your brother?”

“It’s practice, they aren’t allowed to their phones in the gym.” She blinked. “At least that’s what he always tells me. If that little shit’s ignoring me on purpose then we’re making _him_ the hood ornament.”

“I have no qualms about that circumstance either. A (Surname)-original. Maybe I can retire early.”

“I mean, depends on which one of us it belongs to – the famous artist couple or their poor, unfortunate daughter. Which would you prefer, Sakamoto?”

“Again, whichever one will help me retire.”

Dusk had long passed over the shapes of the urban landscape and washed the world into darkness. The car was parked in the front entrance of Nekoma Metropolitan High School since the late afternoon, and remained in the same location even as the sun disappeared over the skyline of buildings and the blues faded into darker blacks. The engine off, the windows open, the passenger growing restless.

Their parents, much to her dismay, sent the family driver all the way to Tokyo to get them despite her insistence the siblings were perfectly fine with taking the shinkansen down to Kyoto. Sakamoto arrived in front of their Nerima home a little after three in the afternoon, having driven the car all the way up from Kyoto the day before.

(“It was at your mother’s request, (Name).” He explained with an apologetic disposition adorning his face. His eyes shifted from the suitcase that was lying on the floor of the lounge room.

“I understand that, but I mean… Am I not allowed to be angry at the fact she didn’t even _ask_ if we had a way out there!”)

Despite her disgruntled and avid objections to the driver, she relented and directed him towards Ryouta’s high school to get him on the way out of the prefecture.

(Name)’s suitcase was in the trunk, while resting on the seat beside her was the work she needed to complete over the break she took. The annoyance of being left waiting by Ryouta mixed with the irritation of her parent’s actions. The Orion Firm didn’t shut down over the holiday period – like most companies in the country – meaning that she had to take _annual leave_ for a holiday she didn’t want to be at. And the fact she was still in Tokyo when they could be on the road near Shizuoka in the same amount of time they were waiting was vexing.

“Yo, sis!”

Her body jolted, head crashing with the top of the open window with a dull thump. (Name) hissed, eyes narrowed into a slight glare at the snickering coming from the front of the cabin. She directed her gaze back to the direction the voice came from, eyes straining in the limited light that the nearby street lamps provided.

Her grip tightened, pressing the rubber flaps that encased the glass of the window tighter together.

“Ryo, hey! The hell dude? We were meant to leave-”

“I know, I just couldn’t shake off-”

“(Name)-nee!”

“(Name)-san!”

Though it was still dark, she could still make out the approaching silhouettes of not only her brother and his best friend, but the lankier figures of a group of kids that all hastily walked alongside the familiar figures towards the car.

The Nekoma Boys’ Volleyball Team.

 _Of course_ he couldn’t shake them.

She trained a smile of her face while her other hand moved to pull the door handle and swung the door open.

“Oh, hey kids, how’s it hanging?”

The woman took a step out of the car, shutting the door behind her with her food while she faced forward. Her arms came up and folded themselves over her chest just as Ryouta finally stood in front of her, flanked by the rest of his teammates who looked at her with varying degrees of sheepishness.

“You’re-”

“Late, I know, I’m sorry. Practice just finished and-”

“You had permission to leave early today! You told me it was fine, if you couldn’t get outta this commitment then you should’ve told me. I would’ve just sat out here with Sakamoto like a plebe-” The designer stopped ranting, letting her eyes wander up and down the teen’s entire height.

“Ryo- where’s your bag?”

Her brother blinked. “I mean-”

“Mate we needed to be on the road to Kyoto, like, two hours ago to get there at a reasonable time-”

“I know! It’s just that I only saw your texts now and I didn’t have time to check during practice cause of the No Phone Rule-”

“And you resolved to come out here to talk to me where I am waiting and ready to take you home, without your bag, meaning we have to wait a little bit more for you to get your ass back to the car after getting the bag you thought you should leave behind?”

He paused.

“Yes.”

“C’mon Ryo, you’re _killing_ me here-”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but-”

“It was our fault (Name) nee-san.” Nori stepped forward, voice dropping from the original octave he had used in their initial meeting. “Well, my fault. As Captain, I take full responsibility of what happened. We held Ryouta back so we could keep-”

“Training for nationals, Nori-chan I get it.” The woman raised her hand, not bothering to send a glance in the senior’s direction. Her gaze was still trained on Ryouta, whose expression faltered on embarrassed and irritated at his older sister’s actions. “I’d just appreciate it if I got like a text of heads up or something when this happened, y’know so I wouldn’t be sitting here with a car for _two hours_. I don’t enjoy wasting my time.”

Ryouta looked away, mouth moving as he mumbled something under his breath. Her gaze narrowed at him-

“Leave the Pretty Siblings alone you lot, you still need to perform your cool down routines _and_ close up the gym for the day. Unless you’d rather do all the drills out here where I can embarrass you properly.”

And immediately redirected itself towards the sound of the new voice, and a silhouette of a man that somehow continued to find his way into her life. Hair still spiked every which way, and donning a black and white tracksuit combo. As he neared, his grin glinted in the mixture of moonlight and street lamps.

“Or you can help Ryouta get his things from the locker room so we can send them on their way. I’m sure this lovely lady here would appreciate not being in the presence of sweaty teenaged boys.”

He paused a little way off from the cluster of people, angling himself to face the team captain as he finished speaking the ultimatum. The trees that littered the main courtyard rustled in the little breezes that passed through the wind tunnels of the urban world encompassing the school grounds. It whistled and howled softly, and dissipated back in the night.

Nori moved first, verbalising a firm “Let’s go” to the rest of the team before he took off back up the main path. The rest of the team scampered back up the hill towards the back gymnasium, each member patting Ryouta on the back or shoulder as a farewell.

(Name) looked to her sibling.

“Get your bag.”

“Yes ma’am.”

And then he was gone too, moving with haste and heavy footsteps back to the lockers and change room. She kept watching him as he disappeared into the dark, making sure he didn’t veer off track to bumble somewhere to waste even _more_ time.

(Name), when she was satisfied with the distance her brother had gained, turned back to face the professional athlete who was now much closer to her than the last time she looked.

“We meet again.”

“Are you stalking me?” Kuroo mused, placing his hands on to his hips as he continued to close the distance between them.

“If anything _you’re_ the one stalking _me_.” She argued. “I’m the one that gave you their name after all. All I got from you was ‘Chuko’.”

“My mouth did not move like that.”

“It’s not hard to exaggerate mouth movements and enunciate clearly at the same time, Chuko-san.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I _prefer_ Mister Reachy.” He sighed. “At least that one doesn’t sound like a discount, off-brand chocolate bar.”

“Uh, excuse you, ‘Chuko’ is less of a chocolate bar and more of a weird breakfast cereal in America. ‘ _Chu-Kos’_.” She dragged a flat palm through the air above both their heads, lips quirking at the eye roll he dished out in response. “But if you really hate the name of my new business venture, then feel free to correct me now. Since, y’know, there’s time.”

The man clicked his tongue at the sarcasm lacing her words, but complied. Whether or not of his own volition, she couldn’t tell.

She hoped he wanted to regardless.

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”

He extended his hand out, signature grin on his face as he waited for her answer. Slowly, she slid her hand into place with his and shook it firmly.

“(Surname) (Name). It’s nice to meet you formally.”

“Please, the pleasure is all mine.”

The wind blew around them as the released each other’s hands, leaving the two to awkwardly stand face to face with each other, just a few steps away from the still running car.

“So from what I’ve heard, you’re taking our setter away because of a family commitment?” Kuroo coughed, scratching the back of his neck.

She shrugged. “I’ll tell you everything if you tell me whether or not Ryouta _actually_ needed to stay back today.”

Kuroo paused for a moment, and (Name) watched patiently. She could see the gears of his mind turning behind the hazel irises of his eyes for a few seconds. “I wanted him to leave.”

“I’m gonna _murder-_ ”

“I’ll let Coach Naoi know you’re very angry with him for the call,” Kuroo began, moving is hands so they rested casually by his sides, “but it’s Nationals. This is Do or Die for most kids that participate in club activities.”

The designer clicked her tongue and nodded. “I get it, But again, would love an update every now and then. I want to treat that kid like an actual older sister, not a mother.” She sighed in exasperation.

Kuroo didn’t prod, instead he waved his head, prompting her to keep her end of the bargain.

“We’re one of those families that does big events over the holidays… Like, _extended_ family celebrations. Most years we can avoid it, but it’s our side’s turn to host the clan.”

“And the car? You drive? But take the train?”

“Nah, never had time to learn. It was our mum’s idea. Sent a driver even though Ryo and I were gonna take the train there. Y’know how parents are sometimes.”

He faltered, lips strained into a tight line. “Yeah, parents, I get that.” He nodded his head a little. “Apparently it’s a big deal?”

“Sort of. If anything it’s more of a hassle.” She whined. “A lot of people get invited, most are relatives that I have no recollection of ever meeting. But y’know – family duty.”

The blocker nodded again, humming in understanding at the logic she presented to him.

“When are you back in Tokyo?”

“Well Ryo’s got Nationals so, y’know, before then. Maybe the 4th if we feel like ditching.”

“And then it’s back to business for you?”

“A designer’s work is never done.”

“Then how about I take you to dinner sometime before your work has to start again? A change of scenery is always good if you want to get those creative juices flowing.”

“Oh, shooting your shot on the spot. How bold.”

“I’ve learnt from my mistakes. I cannot handle The Roast.”

“Can I consider this my prize for winning?”

“If it means I get to see you beyond the walls of a public transport terminal or judgmental eyes of hormonal teenaged boys then yes, it’s yours to claim.”

(Name) raised a brow at him. “But where’s the fun in that?” Her lips curved up a little more into a more sardonic grin. “Besides, I dunno if I wanna be seen in public with a dude named Kuzco.”

The man deflated. “How are you coming up with these names so quickly? There’s no way you’re pulling this out of thin air.”

“I’ve had several weeks to mull the options over, Quiznos-san.”

“Y’know what’s even more useful than these creative, decorative nicknames? Giving me your number so I can plan a -“

An incessant blaring filled the air, and the artist turned around immediately to glare in the direction of the car. Ryouta returned from the school foyer – going completely unnoticed by both of them – and was sitting in the passenger seat next to Sakamoto. Though the front window was tinted, she could tell he was the one pressing the horn.

The car shook. And Ryouta’s head appeared outside of the passenger side window. “Let’s go! You’re wasting precious starlight!”

(Name) felt her eye twitch as Ryouta slid back into the cabin, faint sounds for the electric window being rolled back up. Running a hand over her temple, she sighed.

“Guess that’s my queue.”

“Okay, I knew you’d be leaving me by car this time, but actually experiencing it is hurting my pride _way_ more than I anticipated.” Kuroo groaned, leaning over so he was resting his toes. “It’s such a low blow, so archaic.”

“Stop acting like I’m dying or something-”

“ _I’m_ the one that’s dying. I just worked up the nerve to ask for your number and from the way you’re acting, I can tell you’re not gonna give it to me even though you really want to.” Kuroo said, flummoxed. (Name) snorted.

“As much as I appreciate the theatrics, and do want to put you out of your misery, there’s no fun in that.” She took a step back, increasing the distance more and more before she had to raise her voice to talk to him. “I do appreciate someone that’s a little more creative.”

Kuroo’s brows pinched as he frowned. “This isn’t how flirting is meant to go, y’know? There’s like, a structure, or something that you are purposely not following.”

“Of course I’m not, but it’s amicable that you are.” She waggled a finger at him. “I’m an artist, Kuroo. Formula isn’t our thing.” Her hand found purchase on the handle, and she flexed her wrist in order to pop it open, letting the door swing open from the slight force. “I have complete and utter faith that you will surprise me somehow.”

“At least _one_ of us believes.”

“Someone has to.”

Kuroo kicked his foot up against the concrete ever so slightly. “Happy holidays, (Surname).”

She smiled softly, pausing with one leg back inside the car. “And very happy holidays to you too Kuroo.”

(Name) tucked herself into the car once more, shutting the door with a loud thud and using her free hand to clip her seatbelt into place. Though the window was still down, Kuroo made no other attempt to talk to her and instead moved to the side so the car could properly pull out of the school’s grounds. She followed suit, wordlessly waving at him before rolling the window back up. The car fell silent as they started to drive out of Tokyo, two hours behind schedule.

They barely reached the outskirts of Roppongi before Ryouta could not hold his tongue anymore.

“How the hell do you even _know_ Kuroo Tetsurou?!”

(Name) ignored the piercing gaze of her brother as he looked at her through the gaps of the headrest of the front seat.

“Inside voice kiddo,” she prodded his forehead through the gap, tilting her head to get a better view of the road behind them, “and it’s a small world. We’ve met a few times.”

Ryouta scoffed. “With your lifestyle, it must be pretty damn tiny.”

“How ‘bout you don’t piss me off any more than you have already, Mister ‘I-Had-To-Stay-Back-Even-Though-I-Had-Permission-To-Leave’.” The eldest child scrunched her lips into an annoyed pout, clicking her tongue at him. “Don’t even try to lie either, I know you too well. And even if you deny it I’ll ask Hiro.”

“He’d never rat me out.”

“So you admit you lied.”

Ryouta opened his mouth, then closed it, all before he turned back around to end the conversation.

(Name) didn’t prompt any further. It was going to be a long ride – five and a half hours total – and she was going to need the whole trip to figure out how to save both of their behinds from the scolding of the century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first post of the year and we get the official meet cute! yeeee!  
> how was the holiday season for you all? filled with rest I hope! im still recovering from my holiday and getting used to new routines for my health, but I mean, it's not all bad. im hoping to get back in the rhythm of updating by the end of the month, but we'll see how that goes.
> 
> ive fallen in love with both artist-chan and kuroo, this is bad. also more nekoma shenanigans because SEASON 4 CAN YOU BELIEVE IT OH MY OGDJFASDFJASBCXAZASZJDKKZKZSL-
> 
> anyway, next update will be the belated Christmas/new year themed chapter for UCB, but before that should be another LAOAT one. comments and kudos keep me going! and thank you very much for 500+ hits


	6. #3c6b90

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a tradition again rooted deep into the reputation and prestige of the family of itself.
> 
> (Name) never saw a point of it, but her parents always wanted her there, so she obliged.
> 
> //
> 
> And though he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. Because Kenma – because all the boys – knew him better than he wanted to admit.

_December, 2019_

The siblings arrived late into the night – or very early morning, depending on how one preferred to define 2am.

Ryouta had insisted on regular pit-stops to stretch his legs when he wasn’t fast asleep in the front seat.

Sakamoto stayed awake the entire time, silent as he listened to the radio hum out smooth jazz at a volume that made the designer strain her ears to comprehend it.

She, too, had taken to staying awake for the duration of trip. Partially out of principle and solidarity with their driver, mainly due to the work she had to stay on top of during the impromptu break she was forced to take.

So she sat cross-legged in the back seat with several books of gridded and dotted pages, and her laptop settled in the empty seat behind the driver seat on a low light. Above the noise of the piano playing was the scratch of her pencil, and the sliding of the metal ruler against the coarse surface of the paper.

(Name) lost track of time as she drew, mumbling incoherently even to herself as she toiled away.

By the end of the drive, a few more designs for ‘Wanted: People’ were completed and ready to be scanned and emailed off, as were a few options for the Shimoki clothing start-up she had taken on just before the holiday season.

As she packed away her things, she nudged her knee into the back of Ryouta’s chair, stirring the teen awake with a gurgled “What?”

“We’re pulling up into the estate now.” She answered, shuffling the papers into a messy pile and sliding them into her messenger bag. The laptop followed next with a soft clack of the screen against the keyboard.

“Nee-san, can you carry me…?

“You aren’t three anymore Ryo. And we’ve had, like, eight pit-stops for your legs. Use them.”

“Actually nine, (Name)-san.”

“You’re meant to be on _my_ side, Sakamoto-san!”

“You made us wait an extra two hours, Ryo, _no one_ in this car is on your side.”

The car passed through the estate’s gates and slowly pulled into the driveway that curved towards the back of the house.

The (Surname) residence – or the _Yamazaki_ Estate, as it was formally known as – was tucked away in the central ward of Nakagyo in Kyoto, and had been in possession of her mother’s side of the family since the Tokugawa Shogunate.

A family of artists, loyal to both the shogunate and then the imperial family, before separating themselves entirely to grow into the renowned artist family that were recognised as: art critics, historians, designers, and artists.

It was a traditional style home, as were most of the ones in old Kyoto, with enough space in the property that she could avoid people she didn’t want to see.

Namely her mother.

And maybe her dad if he was as stressed about this family reunion as his partner was.

Thankfully, their parents didn’t greet them as they stopped at the front door. Ryo stumbled out, dragging his bag with him with a tired nod and mumbled “Thanks” to their driver. (Name) sighed and rolled her eyes, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning forward in the space between the passenger and driver’s seat.

“Thank you again for your patience Sakamoto-san. I’m sorry again for the wait.”

“It’s all a part of the job, (Name)-san. Make sure you get some rest tonight before your mother takes your head.” He chuckled, looking back at her with a kind smile. “And if you’re set on taking the shinkansen back, then at least allow me to drive you and Ryouta to the station.”

“We’ll see,” she grinned back, throwing the door open and pulling her bag along with her. She shut the door and watched as Sakamoto popped the trunk, allowing her to grab her other bag. As she lugged it out and slammed the trunk closed, she waved once more to Sakamoto before he drove back down the other side of the  driveway and into the waning night.

Ryouta had already taken to rifling through the flower pots near the front door, looking for the spare key, before the door swung open to reveal the genkan.

“Ryouta, (Name), it’s much later than the time we thought you would be arriving.” The family housekeeper whispered with a tired smile.

“Sorry Kageyama-san. My training ran late.” Ryo apologized, bowing deeply as he stepped into the home, his older sister following behind with the same apologetic smile. “Are there leftovers from dinner? I haven’t eaten yet.”

“I can make you something small if you’d like,” she nodded, holding the door open a little more for them both. “And you (Name)? Are you hungry too?”

She shook her head as she shucked her shoes off and stepped up into the house. “I’m okay, thanks. I just need to sleep. They haven’t gotten rid of my room, have they?”

Kageyama shook her head with a soft laugh. “No, same as it was when you left it for university. Would you like-”

“I can handle my bags too, Kageyama-san.  You just get this kid some food so we all can sleep.”

Without further interruption, (Name) took off, following the all too familiar route to her room located at the back of the house, on the opposite side where the rest of the bedrooms were. She approached the dark panelled door and slid it open, practically pushing both her bags inside before she collapsed onto the tatami floor. For a moment she hesitated as to whether or not she could make it to the bed tucked away in the corner.

She couldn’t.

So instead she rolled onto her back and sprawled her arms out above her head, and waited for the dawn to break to she could get the scolding she knew she would get for it.

 

* * *

 

Strangely enough, (Name) didn’t run into her parents until almost a week later, when the rest of the extended family began to arrive at the estate and take residence in the spare rooms of the property.

She barely had time to greet them, though, as their time was immediately consumed with Ryouta and his well-being. The trio did rounds together, greeting the cousins and aunts and uncles with charming grins and grandeur anecdotes from their daily lives.

Not that she minded, of course, because the less attention on her at this event the better.

Every year, over the Christmas and New Year week, every member of the Yamazaki family congregated at one home and spent the holiday season together. It was a tradition again rooted deep into the reputation and prestige of the family of itself.

(Name) never saw a point of it, but her parents always wanted her there, so she obliged.

Even if no one tended to pay attention to her as closely as they did to Ryouta.

Contrary to her reluctance, however, she tended to enjoy the affair itself.

Despite how diverse and expansive the family was, everyone that greeted her was polite, and took time to ask about her work and – on rare occasion – commented about recognising her style in an advertisement. It was always an interesting experience, especially when comparing the directions and decisions of everyone who came before her.

And when the adults stopped talking to her, the children took up her time, knocking against her knees as they begged her to play.

(“Ryouta doesn’t think it’s fun to play with us,” was the common complaint she heard, often paired with a pout and short harrumph. She wasn’t surprised. That kid forgot what childhood was like all too quickly.)

The ease with which she could slip back into the role of ‘family member’ was interesting, and it almost made the hassle of attending the affair worth it. The week of radio silence between herself and her parents was jarring, she had to admit, especially since this was _Yamazaki Sen_ – the very definition of a Blackhawk parent if she ever needed to present one.

A marimba tone stirred her out of her stupor, making (Name) blink the sleep away as she regained her sense of spatial awareness. The lounge room, which had once been filled with giggling kids and tipsy adults had been emptied, with the distant sound of rambunctious laughter from her uncles out in the backyard.

The designer fumbled in her pockets for her phone, finally acknowledging that there was an incoming call. She frowned for a moment at the screen. An international call. She answered despite her hesitancy, because something in her mind told her that this was, in fact, a familiar number.

“Hello?”

“(Name) sweetheart, can you hear me?”

She shot up, spine straightening out as a mix of excitement and adrenaline flooded her bloodstream. The voice, the language, all so familiar – so fondly missed.

“Mum? Is that you?” She replied back in the same language, standing up from her place on the couch and quickly herding herself into the kitchen. The noise from the backyard faded, leaving her in a comfortable silence.

“Of course it is! Is it wrong for a mother to call her baby girl?” The line crackled just a little.

“No, I’m just surprised. You don’t call this late. And from a random number.”

“I’m at a hotel in France. There was a conference I was attending and my flight home got delayed – oh but I don’t care about that, I’m more interested in _you_! It’s been a few months, and I’ve missed my baby. Is everything alright in Japan? Did you need anything? How’s work?”

(Name) chuckled as the words flew through the receiver. “I’m alright, Still working for Orion Designs, still doing commissions. I changed where my studio is though – no longer local Nerima, but Shimokitazawa. Oh yeah, did you get that painting I sent you two months ago? The one for your birthday?”

“I did! I loved it! I was meaning to call you when I got it but-”

“Life gets busy, trust me, I know.”

“But really, you know how much I love your work. I’m _so proud_ of you. Actually, speaking of-”

“One for your office?”

“You know me too well.”

(Name) shrugged, even though she knew her mother couldn’t see it. “I’m your daughter – I’m pretty good at it.”

“That’s very true…” There was a beat of silence. “How’s your father.”

 _There it was._ The question that wasn’t really a question, but a stern demand laced with fake curiosity.

“He’s good. We’re actually at Sen’s house… Yamazaki family gathering, I get roped along every year by Pa.”

“Are they nice?”

“Well, yeah. They treat me like one of their own. Give me advice and stuff…”

“Even Sen?”

The malice, though subtle, was still noticeable to the designer. The divorce hadn’t been clean – rife with all the adultery and infamy that her two high profile parents would be surrounded by – and for a then four-year old (Name) she was none the wiser to the Pandora’s Box of scandal that her father had opened to the world. Her birth mother, whether or not she would willingly admit it, was still scorned from the betrayal, was still dealing with the repercussions of the fallout. The separation of assets and property, the custody battle, the distance put between her and her only child.

“For the most part. Y’know how traditional she is-”

Her mum scoffed.

“And there’s Ryouta. So, y’know, it’s fair game that she and Pa would care about the child they have together.” The silence that followed made her roll her eyes. “Ryo’s a good kid Mum, doesn’t consider me a weird half-sister of anything.”

“From the sounds of what you told me in the past you’re more of a mother to him than Sen ever could be.”

“I’m starting to think that you only called in the hopes you could vent about your problems to me.”

“I- (Name) sweetie, no, I didn’t mean-”

“Mum I’m kidding!” She interjected, shaking her head at how forced the save sounded. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been fine. Just busy working away. I do want to see you in person soon – it’s been a few years.”

“When I have the money-”

“I’ll-”

“ _I’ll_ pay my own way Mum. I’m a big girl now, I’ll make it out there when my schedule calms down. And when it suits you better. Knowing our luck, I’ll come visit for a few weeks and only see you once because you have a business client in the city.”

She huffed indignantly, childishly, at the truth her daughter had given her. “I miss the days when you wouldn’t sass me – where does the time go?”

“The void, I heard it’s pretty fun down there.”

“(Name).” The woman snorted, letting her body lean against the cabinet, arm resting between where the metal of the sink bled into the wood of the countertop.

“But really,” she breathed, “I’ll make a trip out there soon. Or I’ll meet you wherever you end up being. It’s been, what, six years?”

“Nine. You were still in middle school.”

The melancholy in her tone made (Name)’s heart lurch. Had it really been so long since she had visited? Had time really slipped her mind in the midst of all the tribulations of life?

“Yeah… I’ll make it out there, maybe next year. I’ve got a pretty busy year ahead of me.”

“Whenever you can, I’ll be happy for all I get of you.” There was shuffling on the other side of the line. “It’s late there, right? I’ll leave you so you can sleep.”

“I-yeah… Yeah, thanks Mum… I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart. Talk soon.”

The dial tone replaced the soft spoken words, and forced a sigh from between the woman’s lips.

“How is she?”

(Name) just held in the surprised cough that caught itself in her throat. Of course she overheard that – it was just her luck.

“She’s good.” There was no point in hiding the conversation, nor was there any point in keeping her back towards her mother. “Just wanted to check in since it’s been a few years.”

The older woman nodded thoughtfully, stray strands of dark hair fanning across her forehead.

“And have you been well?”

“Of course. You and Pa have been too, I guess. Your new exhibit has really caused a stir. I wish I visited it while I had the chance.”

“You’re busy with your work – there’s always next time.” The woman smiled – in a way that only Yamazaki Sen could – while she straightened out her clothes. “You are Ryouta arrived very late last week. Was there traffic coming out of the city?”

The designer bit her tongue for a moment before easing the reply out of her mouth. “Ryo had training.”

“He’s still-”

“Volleyball was kinda the whole reason we moved to Tokyo.”

“(Name)-”

“Ma.”

With her arms crossed over her chest, she stared down the woman opposite her. Eased and relaxed, her mother had no qualms with the glare her step-daughter was sending her.

“I know you want what’s best for Ryo and all, but he is genuinely happy playing volleyball. He can’t draw for shit, his photos are always blurry, and he can’t tell the difference between primary, secondary, and tertiary colours – I’m pretty sure that means he’s colour blind.” The designer inhaled shakily one more time. “And he really doesn’t want the gallery.”

There was a brief flash of emotion on her mother’s face, one that could only be described as disbelief. “But he _has_ to inherit it when your father and I retire. He’s a Yamazaki, it’s tradition.”

The words, though said in an off-handed manner, cut deep into the wounds the woman had so desperately tried to stitch closed. Because she had a point; regardless of what she wanted, or what Ryouta wanted, he was an Actual-Blood-Related-Yamazaki, while she was just a step-kid from unfortunate situations, somehow lucky enough to be blessed with the opportunity of associating with a prestigious set of parents.

It was something she had tried to forget about since most of their relatives barely even lingered on that tradition itself. But ever since Ryouta was brought into the world, the proud look in his mother’s eyes was always there to remind her that she was not really her child.

The older woman’s façade broke for a moment, flashing with something akin to regret. “(Name) dear, that’s now what I-”

“No, I get it.” She pulled her lips into a line. “I’m a big girl now Ma, I know what you and Pa care about most these days. You can’t really blame me for wanting me a good older sister and look out for my baby brother, can you?”

Sen didn’t reply.

“I’m just… Gonna head to bed. Ryo and I have to head back home tomorrow afternoon anyway… His big tournament and all.” She scratched the back of her neck. “You think you and Pa will make it down there? It’d mean a lot to him since it’s, y’know, Nationals.”

Another beat of silence lingered between the two women. “We have to get ready for another exhibition up in Sapporo…”

“No sweat then. I’ll just, see you in the morning I guess.”

(Name) didn’t look back as she exited, nor did she turn around when she felt a hand ghost near her shoulder, poised and ready to stop her.

It had been a rough night. And she really just wanted to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The following afternoon arrived much quicker than she would have liked – partially because of the fact she slept in for most of the morning. But even with her taking her time to say goodbye to the large cast of Yamazaki family members that were out and about at the homestead, (Name) was still the first of the two siblings finished and packed up.

Her luggage loaded into the trunk already, she deposited her messenger bag and laptop into the backseat and threw her thick overcoat in for good measure. There were some finishing touches to work on, and since she figured Ryo would be sleeping, there didn’t seem like a more perfect time to utilise.

She sat on the hood of the car, waiting for Sakamoto to finish his lunch. The heels tapped against the tire, bouncing in an uneven rhythm as she waited to leave.

“(Name)! There you are!”

Looking up, her gaze landed on the rest of her family; her father and mother standing behind Ryo, who looked ready to get away from them. She smiled at her father and waved, sliding off the hood to meet them at the step.

It was the first time her father had spoken to her without getting distracted by-

“Ryo my boy, let me help you load your bag. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before your big games!”

She stood corrected.

Lowering her hand, (Name) masked her sigh as a stretch, rotating her neck from side to side as she feigned her fatigue.

“(Name)?”

She turned, face to face with her mother once again. She cocked her eyebrow, continuing to rotate her shoulders as she stared.

“I’m very sorry dear… I didn’t mean to upset you last night. There were other ways to go about that talk, and I should have known that you were still sore about the… The decision we made a few years ago. I really did want this holiday to be one where we could talk about everything, like we used to do…”

The tone was sincere, and the look in her eyes was enough to demonstrate that she meant it.

But (Name) had heard that apology before – at least twice a year – and she knew that there was still a sliver of truth to the idea that Yamazaki Sen was in no way, shape, or form truly sorry for everything.

And yet she smiled and nodded anyway, regardless of what her mind was telling her to do because-

“It’s okay, I forgive you. I should be a bit more understanding about this type of stuff, especially since we were hosting this year.”

She lied through her teeth, but her mother bought it, mouth curling into a relieved smile as the words rested in her mind.

The trunk slammed shut, forcing both of their attention to the rear of the car. “All good to go Ryo?”

The teen nodded with, patting his father on the bicep before he ducked in towards the passenger side door. “You’re okay with the back, yeah?”

“Got work to do – just don’t recline or I’ll kick you.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Please do not damage my car any more than necessary, Ryouta-san, (Name)-san.” Sakamoto sighed as he exited from the front door. He bowed his head has he passed his employers before he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Take care you two, and let us know if you can come back down for any of the festivals this year!”

“You got it Pops, don’t break a hip.” (Name) jested with a nod, moving from the hood and into the back seat.

As she slammed the door shut, the couple were already retreating back towards the house, not bothering another glance at the car as it slowly began to pull out of the driveway.

Ryouta turned the radio on immediately as they passed the property’s main gate, and slumped his body against the leather seat. “Can you break my leg next year so I don’t have to go?”

“You didn’t break mine last year, so no.”

“Nee-san!”

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours kid – you know how this works.” She retorted, grinning impishly as he stared back at her through the rear view mirror. Ryo groaned and flopped back into the seat a little harder, shaking it on its brackets. “Don’t worry kiddo, we don’t have to go back home this year if we don’t want to. I’ll make up some excuse for you.”

He sighed and nodded, mumbling something close to a “Thanks” under his breath. (Name) nodded back, opting to begin her work in order to _maybe_ finish it early and enjoy the rest of her trip home.

She’d talk to Ryouta about the gallery and their parents back in Tokyo.

If she remembered to do it at all.

 

* * *

 

_January, 2019_

It was late into the evening when he arrived on their doorstep, immediately greeted by the matriarch of the house and being ushered inside without an ounce of hesitation.

“Tetsurou! It’s so wonderful to see you! Have you been taking care of yourself? Are you hungry? Kenma didn’t tell me you were coming over!”

The woman flittered around him as they moved from the genkan to the lounge, checking over every inch of the blocker as if he were her child.

He shrugged his shoulders, running a hand through his hair with a lopsided smile. “It was a bit last minute, Auntie… I was heading back home for the holiday but my old man isn’t in town this year. Business or something.”

“Masahiro should have mentioned he was leaving! We would’ve gladly let you join us.”

“Tetsurou knows the door’s always open for him, honey. Right son?”

A spectacled man turned to face him from where he sat on the small couch, extending his arm so he could clap the younger man’s elbow. Sitting cross legged underneath the kotatsu was Kenma, who didn’t bother dragging his gaze away from the TV screen.

“I just don’t like imposing on the holidays.”

“But imposing every other day of the year is perfectly fine.” Kuroo rolled his eyes at Kenma, who only moved to tuck his hair behind his ear. “But you really should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not my fault he only told me about his trip when I was on my way to see him.”

“Maybe tell people you’re doing things in advanced _in general_.”

“Since when were you so snappy at me, Kenma?”

“Working with his old man made him more vocal, Tetsurou.” Kenma’s father laughed, gesturing to the spare seat on the couch. “Take a load off, let’s talk! Kenma was saying you’ve been made captain at Chuo! Even with your responsibilities for the National team!”

The bedhead shrugged and circled around to sit down, donning a cattish smile, “You gotta do what you gotta do, Uncle Jun. It’s not anything too tiring for me.”

Kenma snorted.

Kuroo nudged his foot into the base of his spine.

“Were you hungry? I can heat up some of our leftovers?”

“I’m okay right now, I had a pretty big lunch. I’m a growing boy still.”

“More like a growing pain.”

“Kenma!” Kuroo threw a hand over his chest, pressing his back lower into the couch. “You weren’t this mean when we met up last week.” The blocker frowned, nudging Kenma with his foot in an attempt to get his attention.

The younger man whipped around, batting the sock-clad foot away with a frown. “Just tell Dad about Jakarta. He was talking about it non-stop at work.”

“You should’ve said something early Uncle Jun, I would’ve been over sooner!”

The rest of the night consisted of the Kozume parents quizzing their guest about his recent year, and the life he was slowly carving out for himself as a professional.

Somewhere along the way, he forgot it was the holiday season, and even more so, forgot that his father had forgotten about him in the same way he had.

 

* * *

 

The next morning was quiet, a standard type of morning for the Kozume household, only broken by the stirring of sleeping bodies at the knock on the pudding-head’s bedroom door. The younger man grumbled and trudged around Kuroo’s body to answer. Kuroo stirred and lifted his head from his pillow, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

He turned slightly, rolling over to try and get a better view of the conversation happening over the threshold. Hushed voices met him, and he let his face drop back down into the pillow.

A hand reached in and patted the man’s head affectionately before promptly retreating. Kenma closed the door and plodded back to his bed, swaddling himself back under the covers. Kuroo rolled over, letting out an exaggerated yawn.

“My parents want to know if you wanted to go to the shrine with them.” The words came out muffled, but the blocker could still hear the reluctance in his best friend’s voice.

“Are you?”

“I went yesterday after work.”

“Then I’ll stay here and keep you company, Kenma.”

“Please go the shrine with my parents.”

“No thanks, I’m comfortable here.”

The blond looked up from his cocoon, eyes narrowing at his best friend who was sprawled out across the floor of his bedroom. Kuroo’s eyes were shut, and a content smile settled itself on his lips.

In the silence, one of the blocker’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“You’re stupid.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

They swam in the silence around them. Kuroo felt the piercing, judgemental glare of his best friend lingering on his skull.

Kuroo rolled over onto his stomach, cradling his chin in the valley formed by his propped up hands. “You’re worried about me.”

“I always am.”

“Why?”

Kenma’s fingers paused against the screen, before he slowly lowered the device from his view. “Morisuke messaged me to remind you not to do anything you really can’t handle. And that you should rest properly before the Emperor’s Cup.”

“Good ol’ Team Mum being the best.”

“Well, I mean, we all know the holidays are hard for you, Kuro.”

He couldn’t stop the frown from appearing on his face, the creases that formed in his sleep deepening.

And though he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. Because Kenma – because all the boys – knew him better than he wanted to admit.

The holidays weren’t great; very quiet, and often spent in the school gym training with whoever he could wrangle together. At some point, most of the team were there with him for a day or two, keeping their captain sane without any questions or curiosities.

(Save Yaku and Kai, but they didn’t count.)

“Mum’s been looking after their graves at the shrine… I think she would want you to go with them to see it… Give her approval or something…”

Kuroo sighed, dropping his head down into his pillow.

“How long has it been since you visited?”

“Grandma’s? Last year. Gramps? High school.”

The sound that gurgled in Kenma’s throat was disapproval. “Even I’ve visited them more – they aren’t my grandparents, Kuro.”

“But they liked you more.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go and say your blessings.”

The blocker groaned.

“Since when were you so good at guilt tripping?”

Kenma didn’t reply, and instead threw something over Kuroo’s head, immediately blocking out the morning light.

“Get changed. I’ll go with you. And then we can go get lunch or something?”

“Your shout?”

“We’ll see.”

Kuroo rolled over again, pulling the fabric that covered his head off as well. A jacket, that would definitely be too small in the arms for him to wear.

But he got up anyway, throwing the outerwear over his shoulder with a nod and slowly making his way to the bathroom down the hall. On the way, he ran into Kenma’s mother, who smiled warmly and patted his cheek as he passed her by, a silent greeting that was too comforting and familiar.

For a moment he felt sick.

But it passed, just for a moment.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo had separated from the Kozume family from the moment they arrived at the shrine. Both the Kozume and the Kuroo family had their family shrines in a temple further out towards the residential districts of the Tokyo Prefecture.

The Kuroo family were off in one of the back corners, up a small flight of stone stairs that was hidden by the dense overgrown shrubbery of the gardens.

It was rare for him to go alone; normally his father would accompany him, or even Kenma feeling obligated to make sure he didn’t feel isolated.

But today was one of the rare occasions where Kuroo felt it necessary to be alone, to reflect in a silence that he could shape and mould to his own whims.

His grandparents’ graves were at the top of the staircase, tucked on the left hand side of the alcove that the rest of his deceased relatives laid.

There was a soundless sigh that passed through his lips as he knelt in front of them, eyes sweeping over the offerings left behind by who he could only assume was Kenma’s mother. He moved forward, placing one of the incense sticks into the holder and lighting it with the box of matches.  

“Hey Gramps, Grandma… Happy New Year.” He said softly, bowing his head as the spoke. “Dad’s overseas so it’s just me this year… I’ve been doing okay… Busy with volleyball. I’m a professional now, going to the Olympics in a few years… So I guess that’s why I haven’t visited in a while… Sorry.”

The wind whistled through the foliage, brushing his face and hair with icy tendrils.

“I don’t wanna promise that I’ll visit more, cause, y’know, I’m always busy… But I guess I’ll try at least once a year… Aunt Yuri has been looking out for you… Even Kenma has so… Guess that makes me a terrible person.”

He laughed to himself.

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, right?”

The leaves rustled again, and Kuroo finally lifted his head up.

“Lunch time already Kenma?”

“I had a feeling you didn’t want to stay here long,” came his soft reply.

Kuroo shrugged and stood up, stretching his arms at his side as he did.

“Too awkward without Dad here.. He makes better conversation with the dead than I can.” Kuroo bowed once more and then turned to meet Kenma, who was lingering at the top of the stairs. “Remind me to call him or something.”

“You remind yourself, he’s your parent.”

“Aw Kenma, you’re so mean~” Kuroo laughed, throwing his arm around the shorter male’s shoulders. “But I’ll love you again if we go get cold soba from that one place in Shinjuku.”

“Should you really be eating that so close to a tournament?”

“Don’t tell my trainer.”

“I’ll tell whoever I want since I’m paying.”

“On second thought, I’ll pay, I don’t need you talking since, y’know, you do that now-”

Kuroo wheezed, folding in on himself as Kenma retracted his elbow from where he hit his gut. As the bedhead huffed in air, Kenma continued down the staircase toward the main path, not bothering to check in on him.

‘He’d be fine,’ Kenma thought to himself, ‘because that didn’t hurt him as much as being alone again.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! 
> 
> im really sorry for how it took to update UCB and LAOAT. Life hit me kinda hard, and I fell off the writing schedule with other interests and responsibilities - mainly uni. I also found it a bit hard to start the next couple of chapters, just cause of the directions these stories are going on. 
> 
> but hopefully everything is back on track for me and i can get back to a decent schedule of uploading. i _might_ have to change it from once a fortnight to once a month, just to see if i can ease myself back into the responsibility but again, all of the updates about posting can be seen on my twitter linked in the first chapter.


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